


One More Time With Feeling

by starlightwalking



Series: synchronize into a love you've never known [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (so much kissing), Disaster Gays, Dumbass Gays In Love, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Obliviousness, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020, Years of the Trees, liberal (mis)use of ósanwë, literally just a romcom tbh, moron4moron
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: "The lines of Míriel and Indis have been too long at odds," Findekáno said. "We are both of the House of Finwë, and beloved by him—that should be enough for our fathers to get along. Well: if it is not, we shall force them together in a different way.""And, pray tell, what is this other way?" Maitimo asked.Findekáno grinned, ceasing his paces and spreading his arms wide before Maitimo. "Why, we shall have to unite our two Houses in marriage, of course!"Or: the Russingon Fake Dating AU you've all been waiting for.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Series: synchronize into a love you've never known [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906702
Comments: 70
Kudos: 123
Collections: Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang 2020





	One More Time With Feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [[Painting] Maedhros in Valinor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206597) by [YsabeauV](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YsabeauV/pseuds/YsabeauV). 



> This story is part of the [Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang](http://tolkienrsb.tumblr.com/) 2020, and was inspired by [art](https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/627819355671003136) from [@ysabeau-valikov](http://ysabeau-valikov.tumblr.com/) aka YsabeauV! Ysabeau's portrait of Maedhros is absolutely stunning, and I'm so glad I was able to work with her on this collaboration - you were so supportive and enthusiastic during the writing process, and your art is just exactly how I pictured Maitimo for this fic <3
> 
> Thank you so much to my Beta, [Buffintruder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buffintruder/), and to [Philosophizes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosophizes/), who was an amazing cheerleader!!
> 
> I actually started writing this awhile back, after making [this post](https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/614740019179126784/we-usually-think-of-russingon-as-a-secret) about a Russingon fake dating AU, and then the Russingon Discord server convinced me to start writing it - but TRSB is what motivated me to finish it, and I'm so grateful to Ysabeau and the mods for giving me this opportunity! I don't remember the last time I had this much fun writing a story, and it might honestly be my favorite fic I've ever written? I just really, really love these two!
> 
> The title is a saying, but I specifically took inspiration from Regina Spektor's [song of the same name](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VhvA9iJM0Ko).
> 
> This is set Y.T. 1142, the same year as the 300th anniversary of Finwë's coronation. While Melkor is out and causing trouble, this is a fairly recent development, and Fëanor has not yet started working on the Silmarils.

“This cannot continue,” Findekáno proclaimed. “If we do not do something, your father will do something rash— _more_ rash than what he did tonight, I mean—and you will be forced to disavow our friendship!”

“While I concede that my father is more likely to offer insult to yours, I feel obligated to point out that your father is likely to react in kind, if tonight is any example,” Maitimo drawled. “And since my father will certainly never leave Tirion, not while Haru reigns, it is yours who would feel the need to depart from the city and separate us entirely.”

Findekáno shuddered. “That will not do,” he said firmly. “It could be exciting, to go behind their backs and see each other in secret, but if Atya takes us away...”

“But what can we do?” Maitimo pinched the bridge of his nose. “I cannot look to my brothers for help; Kano and Moryo are too busy with their personal pursuits, Curvo will stand by Atar in anything he does, the twins are too young to care... I suppose Tyelko might spare some sympathy, if only for his friendship with Írissë. But he is the worst confidant I can possibly imagine!”

“We must take matters into our own hands,” Findekáno said. He smiled, a familiar gleam shining in his eye in a way that made Maitimo’s heart drop. Oh, Valar—he had an idea. Maitimo only hoped it was a good one.

“What are you looking at?” Findekáno asked, raising an eyebrow.

Maitimo rolled his eyes. “You have some awful plan,” he said, “and I am only dreading what a mess you will pull me into this time.”

Findekáno laughed, slinging an arm around him affectionately. “Russandol, you have so little faith in me!” he teased. “My plans are always great fun!”

“Yes,” Maitimo admitted, “but that does not mean they always _succeed_.”

“Nonsense! Last year at the festival, when we let all the lanterns loose early so everyone was too busy to notice that we had run off to see the Trees bloom with no one else around—”

“—until Turukáno snitched on us, and we were both put on scribe duty making copies of court minutes for a month—”

“Or before I came of age, when you would leave parties early and sneak me miruvórë, and we would laugh and drink beneath the starlight for hours—”

“—and half the time we got caught, and my mother set Curvo tailing me any time I went out on my own so that I could not see you except at stilted family occasions—”

“Or when we both told our fathers the other would be chaperoning our trip to the forests, but it was us and Findaráto who were in charge of all our cousins, and no one was ever the wiser!”

Maitimo shook his head, unable to repress a grin. “Yes, but did we have _fun_ on that trip?” he inquired. “My memory is that we spent more time trying to stop Moryo and Angaráto from killing each other, or Arakáno from slipping worms into Ambarussa’s pillows, or Írissë and Artanis from wandering back to the city in the nude, than we did on any elder-cousin adventures we had dreamed of. I almost wish we _had_ been caught!”

“Who’s to say we weren’t?” Findekáno said, a bashful blush creeping up his neck. “My father gave me _such_ a talking-to when we returned. It was Ammë who convinced him not to shout your father into Mandos and run after us; we _were_ almost of age, and she had faith that the experience would teach us more than being punished for it would.”

“She was right,” Maitimo groaned. “I’ve been the eldest for my entire life, but not until that week did I decide that I wanted no children of my own. Taking care of little brothers is one thing when your parents are in their workshops, but it’s another thing entirely when you’re completely on your own!”

“You should try taking care of little sisters.” Findekáno rested his head on Maitimo’s shoulder, shaking with quiet laughter. “Írissë is as wild as three of your brothers combined.”

Maitimo snorted. “Perhaps if those three are Kano, Curvo, and Moryo. I would like to see you handle Tyelko and the twins— _and_ the other three. At least Turukáno takes care of himself!”

Findekáno raised his hands in defeat, jumping up and wandering around Maitimo’s room, moving animatedly as he talked. “All that aside,” he said, tugging at the ribbon in his hair, “I am positive my plan will work this time, even better than our forest excursion did.”

“I am open to any suggestions, if they will allow us to keep our friendship.” Maitimo rested his head on his palm, watching Findekáno as he schemed. Doubtless this would end in chaos, but it would be of a merry kind. It was hard to imagine their fathers actually forbidding them from seeing each other, no matter how often Fëanáro threatened to cut his sons off from Nolofinwë’s kin, or how Nolofinwë swore he would not stand Fëanáro’s ramblings another time. Their threats were empty, even if the animosity was not.

“The lines of Míriel and Indis have been too long at odds,” Findekáno said. “We are both of the House of Finwë, and beloved by him—that should be enough for our fathers to get along. Well: if it is not, we shall force them together in a different way.”

“And, pray tell, what is this other way?” Maitimo asked.

Findekáno grinned, ceasing his paces and spreading his arms wide before Maitimo. “Why, we shall have to unite our two Houses in marriage, of course!”

Maitimo was glad he had not been drinking, for if he had, he would have spit the contents of his mouth all over his sheets. As it was, he could scarcely believe they _hadn’t_ been drinking, to hear Findekáno speak of something so ludicrous!

“You jest,” he said, astonished Findekáno would make light of such a thing.

“I am deadly serious!” Findekáno protested, but the dazzling grin across his face suggested otherwise.

“We are _cousins_ ,” Maitimo exclaimed.

“ _Half_ -cousins, as your father will never let us forget,” Findekáno said, reaching forward to tap him lightly on the nose. “And it is not as if such a thing is unheard of, especially among royalty; Ingwion married his own cousin, after all, and one of my aunt Eärwen’s nieces is engaged to one of hers.”

“But who shall we play matchmaker with?” Maitimo wondered. “Írissë and Tyelko? They’re still not quite of age, and certainly don’t seem interested in marriage, especially not with each other—unless you mean to include the Arafinwions, in which case Makalaurë _might_ be convinced to settle for Findaráto—”

Findekáno scoffed. “No, silly. I mean _us_.”

Maitimo stared at him, suddenly overwhelmingly aware of just how _close_ his friend was. Usually it was he who loomed over Findekáno, but he was sitting while Findekáno stood, and in no position to slip away from his cousin’s commanding presence.

“Oh,” was all he could think to say. For one agonizing moment he was afraid Findekáno would pounce on him and insist on committing the act of marriage right then and there, but his friend must have seen the anxiety in his eyes, for he went back to pacing around the room.

“Now, we needn’t _actually_ go through with it, of course,” he continued, and Maitimo forced himself to pay attention and calm the suddenly-rapid beating of his heart. “Only to announce our courtship, and go through all the motions: gift-giving, chaperoned outings, formal balls, et cetera; everything that is expected of those of our status. After a few months I will ask your father for your hand, and you will approach my father for mine, and they will be forced to concede, and work together to plan the wedding.”

“If they do not spontaneously combust or slaughter each other in a duel beforehand,” Maitimo muttered. Kinslaying was unheard of in Aman, but if ever there were someone to be driven there—well. Maitimo loved his father, but he could be awfully rash.

“When they have at last come to terms with the situation and put their differences behind them, we can simply exchange our betrothal rings again and call it all off. The whole thing will be over in a year or so,” Findekáno concluded. “They will be upset, of course, but with _us_ —not with each other. They will forgive their eldest sons eventually, and in the meantime have each other to find a sympathetic ear. It’s perfect!”

He beamed, and his cheery confidence almost gave Maitimo the assurance that it would all work out. It _was_ a way to ensure their friendship could not be sundered, for things were not so bad between Fëanáro and Nolofinwë that they would risk the displeasure of not only their sons, but their father, wives, and all of Tirion’s court: it was bad etiquette to refuse courtship without a good reason, which they would not have, considering Maitimo and Findekáno’s friendship was well-known.

But—

“Findekáno,” Maitimo said slowly, “you do know that going through all the motions will entail more than just the formal aspects of a courtship.”

He shrugged. “Well, yes,” he said, “but we are already very close. A few batted eyelashes and longing glances are all we’ll need to spice it up.”

“They will expect us to kiss,” Maitimo said, acutely aware that he was blushing to the points of his ears. “Not at first, necessarily, but certainly by the time we are officially engaged.” Was it his imagination, or was Findekáno blushing too? It was hard to tell in the dim light of Telperion.

“We’ll just have to practice, then,” Findekáno said, giving him a sidelong glance. “I’m not so bad, you know.”

“Who have _you_ been kissing?” Maitimo demanded.

“Jealous already!” Findekáno laughed. “Oh, just a few people, nothing serious.”

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” Maitimo admitted.

“Findaráto gives excellent tips,” Findekáno said. “Or—” he smiled in what he probably thought was a seductive manner, but really made him look like he was pouting about losing a game of chess— “I could teach you, if you want.”

“Um,” said Maitimo. “Well. If you are serious about this false engagement...”

“I am,” Findekáno said, and he looked it, too. He returned to Maitimo’s bed, sliding comfortably into his lap. It wasn’t as if he’d never done so before, but they were usually both drunk or at least on the way there, and never before had it carried any meaning beyond casual affection. “Are you?”

Maitimo closed his eyes. There were a thousand ways this plan could go wrong, from an inability to act as if he was in love with his best friend to his father overreacting and pushing them apart anyway...and yet, after tonight’s shouting match between Fëanáro and Nolofinwë that not even Nerdanel had been able to quell, he knew that _some_ kind of drastic action needed to be taken. And this might just be drastic enough.

So he nodded, and opened his eyes to stare into Findekáno’s piercing blue gaze, and tilted his chin up slightly, inviting Findekáno’s kiss.

It was sweet and gentle, nothing more than a press of lips together, and as Maitimo drew back he realized with a slight shiver that his mouth tingled where Findekáno had kissed him. Findekáno looked at him, uncharacteristic worry shining through his eyes, and Maitimo smiled.

“That wasn’t so bad, for a first kiss,” he murmured. “Do you want to try again? I know there’s more to it than that. And we will need the practice.”

“Practice,” Findekáno agreed, and kissed him again.

* * *

Findekáno slept with him in his bed that night, chaste and innocent as such a thing always was, and Maitimo realized with a pang of regret that it might be for the last time in a long time. Friends sharing sleeping quarters was trivial, but a couple betrothed or courting was certainly _not_. So Maitimo tried to cherish this last night with Findekáno, holding him a little closer than usual, not complaining when he hogged the blankets or tossed around in his sleep.

How Findekáno _could_ sleep was a mystery to him. Maitimo barely caught a wink himself, so wrapped up was he in their plans. But Findekáno’s breathing was relaxed and his expression peaceful; a gentle brush against his mind with ósanwë confirmed that he was well within Irmo’s embrace.

Maitimo was reluctant to leave Findekáno’s side when morning came, but there were many things for him to do that day, not least of which was helping his mother coax an apology out of his father. Nolofinwë would most likely already have written his and sent it with a courier, reaching out the malinornë branch and requesting his eldest son’s return, but Fëanáro grew increasingly stubborn in his formal retraction of whatever insults he had flung toward his half-brother in one of their many arguments.

Thus Maitimo slipped from his room as Laurelin’s rays began to overtake Telperion’s, leaving Findekáno in his slumber. He was not a morning person, and always bitterly complained when Maitimo nudged him awake.

Nerdanel greeted him with a tired smile. The half-grown twins were already up and chasing each other around the gardens, and Maitimo heard Makalaurë warbling down the hall as he warmed up his voice for the day.

“Is Atar up?” he asked, kissing his mother on the cheek.

She sighed, leaning against him for a moment. “He never went down to begin with. He’s been in the forge all night.”

Maitimo winced. That spelled trouble. “How much longer did they shout at each other, after Findekáno and I left?”

“Anairë managed to drag her husband away after another half hour,” Nerdanel said. “Fëanáro wouldn’t even speak to me, he just...ran off. I think this time it might be serious.”

“What were they even fighting about?” Maitimo asked, rubbing his forehead. “It happens so frequently, these days, I barely pay attention...”

“The three-hundreth anniversary of Finwë’s coronation,” Nerdanel said. “Your father received his invitation _after_ your uncle; he saw this as a personal slight, not a mix-up in delivery. And things devolved from there.”

“Speaking of delivery...” Maitimo glanced hopefully out the window, expecting to see Nolofinwë’s courier trotting down the road. “No word from Nolofinwë?”

Nerdanel’s mouth was a firm line. “None. He seemed properly furious, this time. I don’t know if we should expect an apology.”

“Atar will not give one until he has already received one.” Maitimo sighed. “Nolofinwë is not even inquiring after Findekáno? He spent the night.”

“I do not know. He all but dragged Írissë home with him; she was going to sleep over as well, but he forbade her. If Findekáno had not already disappeared, I think he would have insisted he come home as well.”

“Hm,” said Maitimo. That was unprecedented; usually, Nolofinwë let his children make their own decisions, no matter the quarrel between him and Fëanáro. A bubble of anxiety floated in his stomach. He hoped Findekáno’s plan would work; perhaps his mother would have some advice.

“Ammë,” he began, but Nerdanel sprang to her feet.

“Oh, Valar!” she swore. “Ambarussar are digging at my tulips—hey!” she shouted, rushing outside to scold her youngest children. “Stay away from those, I want to see them bloom!”

So much for asking after her opinion. Maitimo wondered if he ought to interrupt Makalaurë’s morning practice routine, or else go in search of his father to see if he had cooled down, but before he could decide he was startled by the arrival of a cousin hopping through the window.

“Írissë!” he exclaimed, jumping back a few paces. “What in Arda are you doing?”

“You seen Tyelko?” she asked, brushing a clump of grass off her white sleeve. “Huan gave me a ride over here, I promised him a treat if he’d help me escape home, but Tyelko changes up where he hides them, and—”

“No, I have not seen Tyelkormo,” Maitimo interrupted. “He’s probably out in the woods already, checking his traps, though what he expects to catch so close to home I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Great,” she said briskly, turning to leap back through the window, but Maitimo reached out and grabbed her arm before she could.

“Take the _door_ ,” he said firmly. “My father will have a fit if you scuff the windowsill again.”

“He’ll have a fit if he sees me at your door,” Írissë pointed out. “If _my_ father’s still peeved after last night, I don’t want to see how angry _yours_ is still.”

Maitimo shook his head. “He’s in the forge. You’ll be fine.”

“Is Finno?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “He didn’t come home last night. Turno and I covered for him, but...” She narrowed her eyes.

“Findekáno is asleep in my room, where he’s been since we departed the dinner last night.” Maitimo wondered if he ought to ask _her_ for advice, but she was an unreliable young nís. Still, she knew Nolofinwë well, and unlike Findekáno she was not already caught up in their grand scheme...

Before he could make up his mind, however, Findekáno himself stumbled into the room, his eyes bleary and his hair half-escaped from its braids. “Rissi?” he mumbled. “What’re you doing here?”

“Huan,” she said simply, and Findekáno grunted. “And _you_? Don’t you know Atya’s furious?”

“Still?” Concern lined Findekáno’s brow. “Well! Perhaps we shall need to put our plan into action sooner than I anticipated, then.”  
  
“What plan?” Írissë asked, her eyes lighting up.

Maitimo looked at Findekáno, a flush of nerves warming his cheeks. He hadn’t expected Findekáno to _forget_ , not really, especially not after he’d spent nearly an hour teaching Maitimo how to kiss, but that he was so freely speaking of it in front of his little sister already...!

But Findekáno, it seemed, was already playing their game, for he smiled at Maitimo and tugged him close, wrapping an arm about his waist. “It’s been something of a secret,” he said bashfully, “but Maitimo and I—well...”

“Damn it!” Írissë exclaimed. “I should have known! Tyelko’s won our bet!”

“What?” Findekáno released Maitimo, caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

“Bet?” Maitimo asked, his blush spreading down to his arms. Curse his pale complexion—if he had Findekáno and Írissë’s dark skin, at least he would not be so _obvious_ in his embarrassment!

“ _He_ thought you would confess to each other before the year was up,” Írissë pouted. “I, on the other hand, thought Finno would pine for at least that long before you got up the courage!”

“But we’re not—” Maitimo began in horror, his mind spinning. A glance from Findekáno, a quick whisper of _But we are, at least to everyone else!_ in his mind, and he bit his tongue, glaring. This was _Findekáno’s_ idea, let him do the explaining!

“I am not a chicken-heart!” Findekáno protested, elbowing his sister. “I’ll have you know that _I_ was the one who kissed _him_!”

Well, _technically_ that was true, Maitimo thought with a pounding heart, but suddenly faced with the realization that this was real, to the people around him at least, he was overwhelmed. He and Findekáno, in love! Írissë had _already_ believed that—and Tyelko—did _everyone_? How could they have so gravely misconstrued their friendship? Would they believe it when he and Findekáno eventually revealed the truth? Did their _fathers_ already know?

“Ooh, and you _slept_ together!” Írissë giggled.

“As _friends_ ,” Maitimo stressed. “Even if we did kiss, we are not—we are not _married_!”

“Atya is going to cry when he finds out,” Írissë said gleefully. “What will _Fëanáro_ think?”

“Well, that’s the plan, isn’t it?” Findekáno said, turning back to smile at Maitimo. Alongside the usual mischief, there shone something else in his eyes that made Maitimo weak in the knees: something bright, solid, steady. He was a masterful actor; if Maitimo did not know better, he could have almost believed Findekáno _was_ in love with him. “We’ve kept this to ourselves for too long, and now we’ve got to bring it out into the open. Hopefully our fathers can put aside their differences for our sake.”

Maitimo’s mouth felt very dry, but he couldn’t stop Findekáno as he grew closer and closer, leaning on his tiptoes for a kiss. His mind raced with a hundred worries: Nolofinwë was more upset than usual, Fëanáro wouldn’t even listen to Nerdanel, he wasn’t sure anymore if this was a good idea, he desperately wanted to set Írissë straight and let her in on the secret, were they perhaps taking this all to fast—

But Findekáno’s smile was soft as his eyes were bright, and after spending last night kissing him Maitimo found he wanted to do it again. This was the plan they had agreed to, and it _had_ been enjoyable. The only thing giving him pause was knowing that after this, there would be no turning back, not until the game was up.

 _Are you ready?_ Findekáno asked him through ósanwë, and Maitimo smiled back.

He met Findekáno’s lips with his own, and Írissë gasped. _Does that answer your question?_ he teased, and a spark of affection danced from Findekáno’s fëa to his own in a way that made his heart skip a beat. Findekáno took that as an invitation to deepen the kiss, wrapping his arms around Maitimo’s neck and pulling him closer, until Maitimo found he could think of nothing else, not even Írissë watching—

“Oh, no,” said a new voice faintly.

Maitimo and Findekáno jumped apart guiltily. Írissë let out a cackle: clearly _she_ had seen Nerdanel coming, and had not bothered to warn them. Maitimo thought his whole body would turn red as his hair, he blushed so fiercely—this was _not_ how he wanted his mother to find out about this entanglement! Well, Maitimo thought in a state of not insignificant panic, at least it had not been _Fëanáro_ who had walked in on them. They would have time to plan _that_ revelation, at least.

Nerdanel had gone pale beneath her freckles, and she bit her lip as she observed the scene before her. “Oh, no,” she repeated softly. “I mean— _I_ do not disapprove, don’t worry about that, boys, but...what will your fathers think?”

Findekáno only grinned, taking Maitimo’s hand. “I am as curious as you to find out, dear aunt!”

* * *

With Nerdanel and Írissë sworn to secrecy (the threat of having to pay up to Tyelkormo the only thing keeping Írissë’s mouth shut for the time being), Maitimo and Findekáno had time to plan the official announcement of their courtship. Nerdanel pulled Maitimo aside after Findekáno managed to drag Írissë home that evening, giving him courting advice so heartfelt and sincere that Maitimo felt horrible for tricking her like this. But after discussing it, he and Findekáno agreed: no one else could know the truth. They could not risk the plan failing.

“I cannot keep this from your father forever,” Nerdanel warned him when she was done, her eyes full of unshed tears. Maitimo, too, had begun to cry a bit, though more out of guilt than joy; still, he was grateful for his mother’s love, and just as worried as she about his father’s reaction.

“You will not have to,” Maitimo said firmly. “We want to do everything the proper way. Things will be difficult enough without us breaking tradition.”

“Do you love him?” Nerdanel asked intently. “I know you only confessed the depth of your feelings last night, but sometimes, you just _know_. It wasn’t that way with your father and I—Valar know we got on each other’s nerves!—but even still, there was a day when I looked at him, so proud of a gift he made for my father, and I _knew_. I knew he was the nér I would marry.”

Maitimo could not meet her eyes. “I cannot say I have had that moment,” he said carefully, “but I do love him, Ammë. Findekáno is dearer to my heart than any but you and Atar and my brothers.” _That_ was true; though Maitimo had not had his heart stolen by anyone, especially not his cousin, he could not imagine a life without Finno. The very thought that they might be separated drove them to such madness as this, and after all, was that not a form of love?

His mother kissed his forehead. “Then I bless this courtship,” she murmured. “Do you mean to wed him, if you may?”

“Yes,” Maitimo confessed, for that _was_ part of the plan—not the wedding, but the betrothal—and for a brief moment he was seized with a fantasy of never being separated from his best friend, not even when they were apart. Such silliness faded quickly; he and Findekáno were their own people, after all, and he doubted Finno would want to give up kissing other néri entirely. Maitimo felt bad enough depriving him of real kisses for a whole year.

“I have a feeling that Atar will wish to dismiss this as a fling,” Nerdanel warned. “You must show him that you and Findekáno are serious, if that is the case.”

Maitimo nodded: this he knew. Nolofinwë, on the other hand, would be overwhelmed from the very beginning, thinking about how this would affect the future of the Noldor—he always played the long game—but Fëanáro was prone to bursts of passion and could scarcely see beyond the moment in front him. It was part of the reason why they quarrelled so.

Fëanáro raged in his forge for the entire day after this latest argument, but he did at last emerge with a forced smile and a new set of daggers that he gifted to Carnistir. Nerdanel caught Maitimo’s eye meaningfully as she gathered up his younger brothers and marched them off to bed. _Tell your father,_ she meant, but Maitimo’s tongue was tied in knots.

Instead he brought out a chess set and challenged Fëanáro to a game. His father brightened considerably as the game progressed: Maitimo was the only one who could best him, and though that had happened less than a handful of times, the threat was there, and it took both of their full attention to try and outsmart the other. Maitimo’s nerves faded to a background hum in his mind, and Fëanáro let his frustration and jealousy fall to the wayside.

At last Fëanáro checked Maitimo’s king, and Maitimo sat back in his chair with a groan. “I nearly had you that time,” he said.

“You did!” One might have expected Fëanáro’s fiery temper to be unleashed upon any who dared threaten his supremacy, but those people entirely mischaracterized Maitimo’s father. He enjoyed a challenge, and was always eager to learn from those who had aught to teach him. Maitimo was not at that level, but there was a _yet_ that could be appended to that statement, and he knew Fëanáro would be absurdly proud when the day came that he could consistently outmaneuver him.

Nerdanel had reappeared some time during the game, a fond smile on her face as she watched her husband and eldest son play. She nodded to Maitimo approvingly, catching his eye and whispering mind-to-mind, _Very wise to coax him out of his anger first. Chess is not the only game you’re good at, my dear Maitimo._

Maitimo blushed at the praise from both his parents. Fëanáro put the chess set away and gave Nerdanel a quick kiss as he passed her, and his mother passed along a teasing nudge as he did: _The joys of marriage! You have much to look forward to!_

Marriage. Right. That’s what he was about to bring up to his father—marriage to _Findekáno_ , after the expected period of courting, of course.

Fëanáro settled down beside Nerdanel and tilted his head at Maitimo. “You two are conspiring against me,” he proclaimed lightly. “What is it you have to tell me?”

Maitimo didn’t bother looking to his mother for support. He knew she stood behind him, but she would not do his work for him.

“Atar,” he began, taking a deep breath, “I—I am courting someone.”

Fëanáro’s surprise was evident, but he smiled. “Well!” he exclaimed. “Congratulations, Nelyafinwë! I hadn’t any idea you were growing so close to someone, but it is just as well; I was not much older than you when I asked for your mother’s hand. Who is the lucky nís?”

From the way his eyes sparkled, Maitimo could tell he was already thinking of grandchildren, and again his heart panged at the deception. At least when ( _if_ , to be honest) Maitimo found the _actual_ Elda he wished to wed, there was a chance he could fulfill that dream for his father. He had joked with Findekáno earlier that he wanted no offspring of his own, but in truth he did not mind the idea, and would do whatever it was his hypothetical spouse desired.

“Well,” Maitimo said, bracing for his father’s good mood to deteriorate into rage, this time directed at _him_ , “he is a nér, and, ah—”

“Oh,” Fëanáro said, his brows knitting together, before his eyes softened. “If you are worried about that, you needn’t be, Nelyo. I would accept anyone you loved, and I have six other sons; surely at least one will desire níssi and children of his own. You may be the eldest, but you are your own nér and I would not pressure you into any union you did not want.”

“I hope you mean _anyone_ I love,” he blurted out, “because—I am courting Findekáno Astaldo Nolofinwion.”

Fëanáro was never one to hide his emotions, and this time was certainly no exception. Disbelief flashed first across his face, which quickly contorted into fury, then something Maitimo could only call “scheming,” and finally, in an astonishing display of self-control, forced neutrality.

“This is a poor joke, Nelyafinwë,” he said stiffly.

“It is not a joke,” Maitimo said, feeling rather ill. _It is not real, either,_ he thought to himself, but this was the plan. Now, in the middle of it, it seemed like a foolish plan indeed—why in Arda had he agreed to this? Findekáno must not have been thinking of Fëanáro’s reaction, only his own father’s, and while he was sure that bringing the news to Nolofinwë and Anairë was not _easy_ , they were not _Fëanáro_ —

He found himself wishing that they were wed already and had their marriage bond to lend each other strength; surely this would be easier with Findekáno here, holding his hand; surely this would be easier if the deed was already done and they had but to force their fathers to accept it instead of searching for their approval...

But that was absolutely absurd, Maitimo scolded himself giddily, for they weren’t actually going through with the marriage in the end. They had _known_ this was a risk, and decided to do it anyway, for it might just be enough to halt the feud between their families.

“Nelyafinwë,” Fëanáro said with some difficulty, “I love you, and I am beyond proud of the nér you have become, but—the Nolofinwion? Are you sure this is not some act of, of...delayed adolescent rebellion?”

It was and it wasn’t, and frankly Maitimo thought his father saw their friendship in the same light. He set his jaw, suddenly determined to see this through. He would _force_ his father to see reason.

“I love him,” he said firmly, and that was true, even if he meant it in a different way than what his parents thought, “and I plan to marry him, in time.”

At the word _marry_ , Fëanáro paled, clearly thinking of—well, Maitimo _hoped_ he was thinking of the political ramifications and not picturing Maitimo and Findekáno mid-coitus, something Maitimo had _very much_ been trying to avoid considering himself.

“I am not asking for your permission, Atar,” he continued before Fëanáro could interrupt, “I am merely letting you know, so that you may have the opportunity to bless our union or disown me, whichever you choose.” He was astonished to speak those words; he had never considered such a possibility before and if he had he would never have agreed to Findekáno’s plan; he didn’t think his father would do that but _What if—_

“ _Nelyafinwë_!” Fëanáro said in a strangled voice. Nerdanel clutched his hand: she, too, seemed shocked. Maitimo had the brief and horrible thought that _What if this drives them apart, what if he_ does _disown me and I must choose between him and Findekáno after all, what if Ammë takes my side backs me into a marriage I cannot call off at the last minute, what if this false marriage breaks their true one, what if—_

“I would _never_ disown you,” Fëanáro whispered, and a wave of relief washed over Maitimo. Thank Eru! If he would not do that, that meant he _had_ to come to terms with it eventually, and this would all be worth it in the end!

“But that does not mean I _approve_ ,” his father warned. “Nelyafinwë, you are _cousins_.”

“ _Half_ -cousins,” Maitimo said automatically, and Nerdanel covered her laugh with a cough as Fëanáro turned purple at having his own words used against him. “And there’s precedent for closer marriages, among royalty, as we are.”

Fëanáro ground his teeth, standing up suddenly. “Does Nolofinwë know about this?”

“Findekáno is telling him tonight,” Maitimo said. “That is what we agreed, when we decided yesterday that we wished to make things official.”

His father began to pace. “And if Nolofinwë disapproves as well...”

Maitimo chose his words carefully: this could make or break the plan. “If he does, it will be the first time in decades that you agree upon something.”

 _That_ got Fëanáro’s attention. His eyes lit up, not with joy or excitement, but with an _idea_.

“Oh, dear,” murmured Nerdanel, for she knew as well as Maitimo what that look meant.

* * *

“Well, it could have been _worse_ ,” Maitimo conceded the next time he and Findekáno had the chance to be alone together. It had been a week since they’d agreed upon their plan, and he’d barely been able to sleep since, he was so full of worry. He only relaxed when they were out of sight from their families, who had agreed to meet and discuss their courtship, and he’d spilled the whole story of the night he told his father of his plan. “What about you?”

Findekáno was not as cheerfully confident now as he had been at the start. He absently braided and rebraided a strand of his hair, and Maitimo’s fingers itched to do that himself. Now that they were courting, perhaps it would be acceptable... But they were alone, not needing to pretend now that no one was there to watch, so Maitimo kept his hands to himself.

“I thought Amil would faint,” Findekáno admitted. “She kept muttering about how I have cousins on her side of the family too, and wouldn’t it be nice if I spent more time with them instead of you... I hope she doesn’t take issue with Tyelkormo and Írissë’s friendship because of us.”

“And your father?”

Findekáno winced. “I am sure it was nothing compared to _your_ father, but he was certainly not happy. He’d begun looking for royal níssi of the other kindreds for my sake, which I did _not_ know beforehand and am none too pleased about. Apparently I haven’t been obvious enough about kissing néri for any rumors to spread back to him!”

“My father has six more chances for grandchildren,” Maitimo said, “and he married for love, not politics, so I don’t have _that_ to worry about, thankfully. Besides, I...well, you were the first person I kissed, and I hadn’t really thought about it before...maybe I will end up with a nís, eventually.”

Findekáno looked at him in a way Maitimo didn’t quite understand, but that pierced his heart nonetheless. He felt Finno brush at the edge of his consciousness, then just as quickly pull back.

“Or maybe not,” Maitimo backtracked. “I...did like it. Kissing you, I mean. Perhaps I am better suited to néri.”

Findekáno rested his hand on Maitimo’s shoulder, smiling softly. “I like it, too, Russo. Do you want to do it again?”

“Um,” he said, and was surprised to find he _did_.

 _Practice,_ he told himself, _for when I find someone I want to..._ “Yes?” A thought occurred to him: “We could—prove our devotion. To our parents. They’re right back that way.” He waved his hand in the direction they had come from.

Now it was Findekáno’s turn to hesitate. “You mean _in front of them_?”

“We’ll have to eventually,” Maitimo reasoned. “Ammë and Írissë already saw, it can’t be _that_ much worse.”

“Somehow I didn’t think of this,” Findekáno muttered, rubbing his brow. “Though of course at the wedding we’d need to...”

“We could put it off, if you don’t want to,” Maitimo hurried to assure him. “After all, there isn’t truly going to be a wedding. I just—think it might help them see that we’re...serious. For the plan, of course.”

“When you said your father had an idea, and hurried off to his study,” Findekáno said slowly, “do you know what that idea was?”

Maitimo shook his head. “Only that he’s been...smug, ever since. He thinks he’s one-upped your father again, and I dread to find out how.”

“There hasn’t been any shouting since we left?” Findekáno said hopefully. “At least, not loud enough that we can hear it from here. That’s a good sign.”

“We ought to go back,” Maitimo said. “Do you...want to...?”

“If you let me steal a kiss in private first.” Findekáno grinned mischievously, and Maitimo’s heart skipped a beat.

“Alright,” he agreed, because when Laurelin’s slowly-fading light caught the gold ribbons in Findekáno’s hair, he looked lovelier than any nís Maitimo had ever seen, and it felt like an honor to be granted such a privilege as a kiss from him.

Maitimo didn’t want to break away from him. He let his mind open slightly, basking in the warmth of Finno’s spirit, hesitantly reaching out to his friend. When the kiss ended he wrapped an arm around Findekáno’s waist and pulled him even closer, nearly into his lap, and Findekáno’s mouth opened in a small _oh_ and they kissed again, and this time Findekáno slipped his _tongue_ in Maitimo’s mouth just as he let a thread of his thought ( _yes, yes, Russo!_ ) sneak into his mind, and suddenly there was heat pooling in Maitimo’s stomach and he _moaned_ and couldn’t decide if he should never let go of his friend or push him away immediately—

“Nelyo?” said a new voice, and Maitimo shut his mind and jumped away from Findekáno like his touch burned (which it _did_ , he thought giddily, though he didn’t know _why_ ). Findekáno stumbled back, eyes wide, but as much as Maitimo never wanted to look away from him, he knew that voice and he knew it meant _trouble_.

“Curvo!” he exclaimed, uncomfortably aware that his entire body was _far_ too warm, and that the edge of Finno’s thought, of his _pleasure_ , still echoed faintly in his fëa.

Curufinwë glared at Findekáno. “So it’s true, then?”

“We are courting,” Findekáno said, and looked as if he might faint.

“Most ardently, I see,” Curufinwë sneered. “You had better get back to our parents—they’re arguing over who to appoint as your chaperone, and _clearly_ you need one.”

Maitimo resisted the urge to trip his brother as he passed. He didn’t have to act so _smug_ about catching them kissing!

He nearly stumbled himself as he realized—Curvo had caught them _kissing_. With _tongue_ and everything. He’d been _making out_ with Findekáno and Curvo had _seen_ it. He was mortified.

But then Findekáno brushed up against his shoulder and took his hand, and suddenly it was all fine. Maitimo smiled down at his friend and squeezed his hand, and he thought Findekáno’s smile outshone the Trees. He was happy, and he didn’t need ósanwë to know that.

Maybe kissing in front of their parents wasn’t going to be so bad, after all.

* * *

Of all Maitimo’s brothers, Curufinwë’s reaction was, thankfully, the worst. Once the news was broken and the courtship was (reluctantly, on their fathers’ parts) made official, it became the talk of all Tirion—and worse, the talk of all his family.

Makalaurë teased him to no end, which felt unfair, for he was Maitimo’s _younger_ brother. _He_ ought to be teasing _Makalaurë_ about such things! But Makalaurë’s remarks never went beyond gentle mockery, for which Maitimo was grateful: at least he had one brother who supported him. Even if, of course, it was for a cause that in the end would prove vain. But it was good to know that Makalaurë approved of Findekáno; he only hoped his eldest younger brother would understand when the truth came out.

Tyelkormo was insufferable, if only because he’d won his bet with Írissë. “I _knew it_ ,” he crowed, punching him ungently in the gut in a way only he could make affectionate. “Glad you had the balls to tell him how you feel, Nelyo!” He winked obnoxiously, and the worst part was that Maitimo couldn’t protest with the truth, that he and Finno weren’t actually in love, because that would ruin the plan. Somehow even Tyelkormo’s compliments turned into insults.

“Gross,” was the only thing Carnistir had to say when he walked in on Findekáno sprawling across Maitimo’s lap as Maitimo braided gold ribbons into his hair, talking late into the night. Makalaurë was plucking his harp in the corner, acting as their chaperone at the moment, and there truly was nothing all that unusual about the position Maitimo and Findekáno found themselves in at that moment—they had been this close, physically, before their feigned courtship began. It was just that other people saw them differently now...and Maitimo could not even complain, because he and Finno rarely had a moment alone these days, and no one else knew the truth. All their kisses were chaste and brief, which was for some reason vaguely disappointing, and aside from such performative pecks they acted almost exactly the same as they had before.

If Carnistir was indifferent, Curufinwë carried all of Fëanáro’s outrage for him. Their father could not outwardly express his disapproval— _that_ part of the plan was working—so it seemed he had channelled it all into his favorite son. Maitimo could put up with Curvo’s scorn; frankly, the fact that he alone seemed to oppose the courtship was a relief.

Curufinwë was the most dedicated of their chaperones; Makalaurë was easily distracted, Carnistir was just as easily bribed, Turukáno was too polite to berate them for getting improper, and absolutely no one trusted Írissë and Tyelkormo with that duty. Thus it was Curvo, least eager to watch their semi-scripted moments of intimacy and most ready to jeer when Maitimo laughed too hard at Finno’s joke or Findekáno tangled his hands in Russo’s hair, who spent the most time making sure they did nothing too much or too fast for this stage of their relationship.

Not that anyone truly had to worry about that. Maitimo and Findekáno were not truly in love, and thus not truly in any danger of getting “carried away,” as Fëanáro warned pointedly.

And the Ambarussar were too young to understand what was going on. They cornered him one day and asked very seriously if he was going to “put your thingy in his you-know-what,” which made Maitimo choke on his drink and splutter all over them. Luckily they were too amused by their oldest brother losing his composure to press him any further, and Maitimo spent the rest of the day in absolute mortification, blushing furiously when he met up with Findekáno later for a stroll in the park, unable to meet his friend’s eyes.

(The answer to the twins’ questions was an emphatic _No_ , but if he was pretending they were eventually to be married he couldn’t _say_ that, even to the immature questioning of a pair of children.

And besides, when he pictured that possibility—which he _did not do_ if he could help it, _certainly_ not in the middle of the night when it was all he could do to not reach down and relieve the uncomfortable pressure between his hips, not at _all_ an appropriate reaction to thoughts of his _best friend_ who he was only courting for _political reasons_ —well, for some reason he usually imagined it the other way around, though he would never admit that to another soul. _Especially_ not to Findekáno.)

In their rare moments alone, Maitimo was beyond relieved he had someone who understood him to complain to. Findekáno was unfailingly patient, even if he seemed to be shouldering much less tormenting from his own siblings; at least, he listened to Maitimo’s every word and nodded sympathetically before offering to distract him with something much more pleasant than annoying brothers, like archery, or puzzles, or kissing.

He took to spending more time at Nolofinwë’s home than at his own, if only because there were less people there to bother or interrupt them. Nolofinwë was busy at court; Anairë was often in the city making calls on her friends, and brought young Arakáno with her; Írissë was, of course, always out hunting with Tyelkormo. Turukáno was nominally their chaperone when they were alone together, but in truth he kept mostly to himself and his studies in his own rooms, leaving Maitimo and Findekáno to be open and honest with one another.

Oddly enough, that often involved kissing. Maitimo had been surprised, at the start, that he liked it so much, but he did, and Finno was an _excellent_ kisser and even more enthusiastic than he was. Sometimes it got a bit much—sometimes he found himself rocking against Findekáno’s thigh and moaning, almost wishing that this was real, that they actually were to be wed and bonded at some point in the future, that his carnal desires could be fulfilled...but he always reined himself in when that happened, getting up and offering to cook food for his friend. He didn’t want to make Findekáno uncomfortable; it was bad enough he’d gotten Finno aroused enough to rock back against him, when such feelings should be saved for the person one truly loved.

One evening after Fëanáro had emerged from his forge in a foul mood, barely constraining his snide remarks about how Maitimo was never around to help him out any longer (as if he’d spent much time there to begin with!), he excused himself to call upon the company of someone who actually _wanted_ to see him. Findekáno was not expecting him; he hoped his arrival would be a pleasant surprise.

But when he arrived at Nolofinwë’s mansion, it was not Findekáno who greeted him, but Turukáno.

“Maitimo,” he said coolly, fixing him with the critical stare he always saved for anyone even remotely associated with Fëanáro. (Being the eldest Curufinwion did not help his case in the slightest.) “Your...intended is not at home.”

“Oh.” Maitimo swallowed, trying to hide his disappointment. “Where is he?”

“He went with Atya to the palace,” Turukáno said. “Planning for Haru’s coronation anniversary, you know.”

Maitimo _did_ know; he had accompanied his own father to a dozen or so similar meetings in the past months, though he always felt woefully out of place. He nodded. “Alright then. Thank you, I suppose I’ll be on my way—”

“No,” Turukáno said, surprising them both. He narrowed his eyes. “Actually, I’d like to talk to you, if you don’t mind.”

Maitimo _did_ mind; Turukáno had never been overly fond of him, and he dreaded to think of what words he had in store for him. But he did not want to offend his friend’s brother, so he acquiesced and followed Turukáno inside.

“Would you like me to...make you an egg sandwich?” Maitimo offered awkwardly.

Turukáno sniffed. “Are you determined to make me a poor host in my own home?”

“No!” Maitimo exclaimed. “It’s just, I do know my away around your kitchen, and Finno likes it—”

“Fine,” Turukáno said. “If you’d like to.” He paused, then added, “I know you _are_ a good cook. I’ve had leftovers you made. I imagine they’re even better fresh.”

Maitimo smiled, blushing slightly. “Thank you.” He’d grown up helping his mother in the kitchen, gradually taking over for her as she became more occupied with his brothers, and he rather enjoyed the routine and concentration required for a well-cooked meal.

Turukáno said nothing as he got to work, but as he focused on the task before him he didn’t have much time to work himself into anxiety. Only when he presented Turukáno with the finished product did he remember that Findekáno was not here, and that Turukáno had something he wanted to talk to him about.

Turukáno ate silently and quickly, leaving Maitimo to fidget and watch him, wishing desperately that Finno was home to distract him. At last Turukáno said, “This is excellent. Thank you, Maitimo. Finno is...well, he won’t go hungry.”

Maitimo nodded, his stomach twisting in knots. “I wouldn’t let him,” he muttered.

“Do you really...” Turukáno trailed off with a scowl. “I love my brother. I don’t want him to be hurt. Do you really mean all this, or are you just...having fun with him? He really cares about you, Maitimo. He deserves...someone who cares about him, too.”

Maitimo’s blood ran cold. Finno _knew_ it was all a ruse; it had been _his_ idea. And yet, being interrogated by Turukáno and knowing their courtship wasn’t genuine, he feared for the first time to break Findekáno’s heart. Which was ridiculous, he thought, because Findekáno wasn’t foolish enough to place all his love in Maitimo’s hands—there was nothing to worry about.

And yet...

“I love him,” he said quietly, shaken by how deeply he meant that. “He’s—Finno is my best friend. I care about him, just as much as you do. I know you aren’t very fond of me, Turno, but...please know that I would never hurt him. Never.”

He _meant_ it, every word, even if it wasn’t quite in the way he was leading Turukáno to think. He didn’t even feel all that guilty saying it, not like he had when “confessing” to his own mother. Of _course_ he would treasure Finno, even if—when they broke off their courtship.

Turukáno looked at him for a long moment, his eyes—a few shades darker than Finno’s own, but the same shape—unblinking.

“Very well,” he said abruptly. “If this is the way it has to be...then fine. But Maitimo...if you _ever_ make him cry, I’ll never forgive you.” His mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. “He’s too sensitive for his own good.”

“He’s the best person I know,” Maitimo said. “I promise—the only tears he’ll cry will be happy ones, if I can help it.”

* * *

“I think it’s time,” Findekáno said one night, leaning against Maitimo, watching the darkening sky together as the Mingling approached.

Maitimo stirred, guiltily realizing he’d been staring more at Finno than the breathtaking heavens above, the golden light making his brown skin glow. “Hm?” he asked. “Time for what?”

Finno turned to look him seriously in the eyes. “Time for us to take the next step in our plan,” he said softly. He leaned forward to give Maitimo a gentle kiss on the nose, glancing to where Curufinwë watched them from the porch of the Fëanárean home, a scowl disfiguring his otherwise pretty face.

“Oh.” Maitimo’s heart dropped. He’d been enjoying their scheme more than he’d thought he would, and he would be sad to drop the pretense and go back to being friends. Not that they were anything other than friends, in truth, but—the extra things were fun, and his chest hurt at the thought of Finno going back to kissing other néri. “Really? Our fathers...I mean, I suppose they’re not outright yelling at each other anymore, but with the Haru’s celebration coming up they’re still awfully tense, and I still think Atar’s up to something—”

Findekáno laughed, sliding into his lap to silence him with a proper kiss. “Oh, Russandol!” he exclaimed, pressing their foreheads together. A gentle whisper of reassurance caressed Maitimo’s fëa; they did not share their thoughts as freely as they might once have, but those brief touches through ósanwë were all the more meaningful now that they were less common.

“That’s not what I meant,” Findekáno said. “No, we ought to keep this going a little longer—unless you’d rather...”

“No, no,” Maitimo said quickly, more relieved than he really ought to be. “I mean—I think we’d better make sure this is really working. Right?”

He _thought_ it was working, for the most part. Fëanáro had at last apologized for his comments that had spurred them to take such drastic action, _before_ Nolofinwë, even. Their arguments were no less frequent, but they were less vicious, and both their fathers seemed to be acutely aware that insulting one another meant insulting the family of their beloved son’s sweetheart. Finwë’s blessing of their courtship had also helped, though when Indis weighed in Fëanáro could not hold back a snide comment that resulted in the worst altercation between him and Nolofinwë since the ruse had begun.

Things were still imperfect, and Maitimo feared that they had not yet reached a point where breaking things off wouldn’t revert the princes back to their petty squabbling; and yet, he _hoped_ , and enjoyed Findekáno’s closeness far too much to let him go so easily.

“Right,” Findekáno said, his eyes sparkling. “And, well...” He smiled into the next kiss. “You’ve become a rather good kisser, Russo. I’ll miss that when we’ve got to give it up.”

Maitimo’s heart was in his throat as he rasped out, “Me too. What if—” He broke off, blushing red as his hair, glad the coming darkness made his embarrassment less visibly obvious, and that his mental guards were up so Findekáno could not see right to his heart.

“What if what?” Finno teased, shifting in his lap a little. Maitimo’s heart fluttered, and he felt a flush of warmth travel down his torso, right to the very last place he wanted the nér straddling him to become aware of.

“Nothing,” Maitimo said, not looking him in his beautiful blue eyes. “It’s silly. Just that—” He bit his lip, then blurted out, “What if we...kept it going? Even when we didn’t need to?”

Findekáno froze, and Maitimo instantly wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Clearly Finno didn’t want that, he’d overstepped; _he_ didn’t even really want that, not really, after all what if he found some other nér he _actually_ wanted to marry—

(Though really, he couldn’t imagine having any husband other than his Finno. Not that he’d admit that to anyone. _Especially_ not Finno, who deserved someone much better than him.)

“Nevermind,” he said. “Like I said, it’s silly, I didn’t mean to—make you uncomfortable—”

“ _Russandol_ ,” Finno said with exasperation, leaning in to kiss him fiercely, and Maitimo squeaked, clinging to him and never wanting this to end—

“Hey!” Curufinwë shouted. “Stop that! You’re not married _yet_! You’re not even betrothed!”

They leapt apart guiltily, then burst into a fit of giggles. Maitimo laughed until his stomach hurt, and he twined his fingers with Finno’s. Dear Valar—he was going to _miss_ this.

“That’s what I meant,” Findekáno said, threading his hope around Maitimo’s fëa, so that he shivered without even letting him in. “We should get betrothed.”

Maitimo beamed, for one glorious moment forgetting that this was all part of their great ruse—and then he remembered, and his smile faltered just a little bit. (But why? he asked himself. It’s not as if he really wanted to marry Findekáno...and Finno certainly didn’t want to marry _him_...)

“Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s not too late to call it off now...we’ve probably gone long enough, without taking it too far.”

“I think we should,” Findekáno murmured. “I think we need to.” He let out another huff of laughter. “I’ll even brave your father for this, Russo. That’s...that’s how much your friendship means to me.”

Maitimo looked at him, suddenly so overwhelmed with love for him that he couldn’t speak. Instead he nodded, tears pricking his eyes, because _of course_ he felt the same, and he let that affection pour out from his spirit into Findekáno’s own.

“Finno,” he said, and as the last of Laurelin’s rays gave way to Telperion’s, something within him clicked into place, and he realized—he _realized_ —

Quickly he closed off his mind, ceasing the ósanwë connection, because Finno _could not know_. His friend flinched slightly to be cut off so abruptly after such an intense wave of feeling, but nothing could disorient Findekáno Astaldo for long.

“I don’t want to be without you,” Findekáno said, and oh, it was _all too much_. “You said it was silly, but—honestly, if we needed to actually get married, to see this through to the end...I wouldn’t mind. I like kissing you, Russo; I like holding you and...feeling like I’m yours. Being married to my best friend wouldn’t...it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“I,” Maitimo said, and _Oh, holiest Ilúvatar, I am damned, damned damned!_ “I...like all those things too. I didn’t think that I would, but—” _but I have, oh Finno my Finno, I—_ “but I do, and I—” _I want you_ — “don’t want to be without you, either.” He took a shuddering breath, trying to pull himself together in the face of this sudden, overwhelming realization. “You...you’re my best friend.”

Finno stroked his cheek tenderly. “And you are mine. That’s why I want...why I’d be alright with it.”

“Yes, but—” Maitimo’s fëa and hröa both trembled with the weight of this new understanding, and he was all the more certain that _this_ he had to keep to himself. “I couldn’t do that to you. You deserve...a real love. A real marriage.” _Someone who will not shy away from you as I now have done._

Findekáno drew back from him, not quite meeting his eyes. “I...you do, too, Russo. And this...it’s for our friendship. I wouldn’t want to ruin that, not for anything. It wouldn’t be worth it.”

“Then I’ll ask your father for your hand,” Maitimo whispered, “and you for mine...but just consider it—practice, for the real thing. Like all this has been.” He smiled, and tried not to make it seem bitter, though his spirit ached as it never had before.

“Kiss me?” Finno whispered. “Not for practice. Because...because you... As a symbol. A promise, that we’ll do anything for each other. Even if it’s hard. Even if it hurts.”

Maitimo didn’t need to be asked twice: he kissed Findekáno, slow and serious, for the first time realizing why he wanted this so much, for the first time putting all his feeling into it, for the first time trying to pretend this _was_ real, that their betrothal would be true, that there would come a day where they were bound together fëa to fëa, never to be parted—

But if that were true Findekáno would have long since opened his heart to him, and Maitimo would _know_ his fëa’s desires. Yes, he guarded his own mind more now than ever, but Findekáno was the brave one, Findekáno took the risks, and if he loved Maitimo in return he would have already made that clear.

How had it taken him so long to see it? How had he been so blind? Maitimo kissed Findekáno like he was in love, because he _was_ , and he knew that now; but though Finno loved him it wasn’t in the same way. Maitimo was still reeling with the shock of it all, that he’d gone and fallen in love with his best friend, and now his heart was breaking as he realized what that meant—that Finno wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ actually marry him; that if that ended up happening, it would all be a lie, and he could not keep his true feelings from his bonded husband...

“Don’t make me get Atar out here,” Curufinwë called from his spot on the porch. “Get your tongue out of his throat, Nelyo, or I swear to Mandos—”

Maitimo pulled away, trying not to let his pain show, and smiled at Finno: his best friend, his heart’s love.

“Let’s do this,” he whispered, and only the determination in Finno’s eyes gave him the strength not to cry.

* * *

Maitimo had never been more terrified in his life than he was in this moment, sitting before his uncle and asking for his cousin’s hand. He was giddy with nerves, almost forgetting that this wasn’t real—because in all the ways that mattered, it _was_.

Maitimo _was_ in love with Findekáno; he knew that now, had scarcely thought of anything else since his belated realization. He’d been in love since the beginning, he thought; maybe since even the first time he’d met Finno, when they were both scarcely more than children and Haru had held out some vain hope that a friendship between them would lead to a friendship between their fathers.

It hadn’t worked that time—but it _had_ to work this time. If a new kind of intimacy between them could heal the rift, it would be worth every second of lovesick pining, every torturous kiss and empty caress Maitimo endured. He _needed_ Findekáno in his life, in any way he could have him, and if it meant suffering in silence when Finno broke off their engagement and pursued his true desires—so be it. More than any selfish love he wanted Finno to be _happy_.

Of course, that was assuming their fathers _approved_ of their engagement. From the way Nolofinwë scowled at him, from the way Anairë’s face was pointedly blank and unreadable...that was no guarantee.

 _It’s not real,_ Maitimo tried and failed to reassure himself. Because it _was_ real, to his own heart, and in the hearts and minds of everyone who was not Findekáno.

Besides, if this failed—if Nolofinwë refused—the plan had failed, too, for Nolofinwë would risk his son’s supposed happiness for the sake of one-upping his half-brother. Normally Maitimo would be worried about his _own_ father’s reaction, but Nolofinwë had not yet apologized for the fiasco that inspired this whole crazy scheme, and Fëanáro grinned like a madman whenever he caught Finno’s eye.

In truth Maitimo _was_ worried about his father’s plans for his intended—and he felt for Finno’s position dealing with the parent who was inarguably the most intimidating and least predictable of the bunch—but right here, right now? Well, Maitimo stood with sweaty palms before Nolofinwë’s cold glare, and it was hard to think of anything other than his own trepidations.

 _For Finno,_ he reminded himself, and felt a twinge of heartache at how different it was from what he wanted, but any thought of his dearest friend (for Finno was that first, and would always be that to him) strengthened him.

“My lord Nolofinwë Arakáno,” Maitimo began, forcing himself to speak in steady, clear tones. “My lady Anairë Márahelindë. Thank you very much for granting me an audience with you.”

“Sit,” said Nolofinwë, more clipped than usual.

Maitimo sat.

“I fear I know exactly why you are here,” Nolofinwë said. “Your trembling alone betrays the...magnitude of the situation.”

“Ñolo,” Anairë murmured. “You’re frightening him.”

“Good!” he cried, so very much like Fëanáro in that outburst that Maitimo couldn’t help but smile. He knew how to deal with _fire_ , at least.

“Good,” Nolofinwë repeated, softer this time. “If he were not frightened I would think he was not serious.”

Maitimo swallowed. “For some months now I have been courting your son, Findekáno Astaldo,” he said. “There is great love between us, despite the...differences between my father and you, my lord, and I wish— _we_ wish...to be wed.”

Nolofinwë glared at him for a long moment. “Yes. I am aware.”

“ _Ñolo,_ ” Anairë sighed. “Maitimo, I apologize for my husband. Getting along with Fëanáro has always been difficult for him, in no small part because of the love he bears your father, and how cruelly he has been treated by him. But now it is especially difficult, for Fëanáro has been making...efforts at peace, if not brotherhood.”

Hope soared in Maitimo’s breast, and he broke into a genuine smile. It _was_ working!

“I did not know that,” he admitted, “and I am glad to hear it.”

“Yes, well...” Nolofinwë gritted his teeth. “Why should I believe him? And why should I believe _you_ , Nelyafinwë? What if this is all part of a grand scheme to claim my son as a Fëanárion?”

His heart skipped a beat. That was—not the scheme, but it struck too close to the truth for Maitimo’s comfort.

“A poor scheme it would be, then,” he countered, “because our marriage will also result in my becoming a Nolofinwion. Besides,” he added, more confident than he felt, “you are mad if you think my father is overjoyed with my choice of husband, dear uncle! But for my sake, and my happiness, he is trying.”

It was more pointed than Maitimo thought he would dare, an outright challenge to Nolofinwë’s parenting, a comparison to Fëanáro. He held his breath when he finished, but it seemed to do the trick.

Nolofinwë closed his eyes, leaning his head toward Anairë. She stared at her husband thoughtfully, and Maitimo realized they were speaking over their marriage bond. The bond, the closeness, the intimacy he so craved to have with Finno. The bond he never _would_ have, if this worked out. Their meeting of minds before paled in comparison to the strength of such a bond, and Maitimo yearned for that closeness all the more now that he had distanced himself from Findekáno, afraid to let his love show.

Anairë and Nolofinwë were silent for a long time, and Maitimo lamented the impossibility of his scenario. If they agreed, and his own father did likewise, their scheme would begin its last phase. Ironically, their official betrothal would spell the doom of any marriage, for _this_ would be the great thing that brought their fathers into agreement, more even than the initial reluctant acceptance of their courtship.

“I love my son,” Nolofinwë said at last.

“We both do,” Anairë added. “He is good, and brave, and kind. He deserves the best spouse.”

“I agree,” Maitimo whispered. “I still sometimes wonder that he—that he would choose me. I feel insufficient.” He felt sick to his stomach, both at the lie and at the truth: Finno had _not_ chosen him; Finno would _never_ choose him. And that was good and right, because he _did_ deserve better than Maitimo, but it still broke his heart to think of it.

“And yet he has chosen you.” Nolofinwë sighed, the fight draining out of him, until all was left was a bemused smile. “Findekáno never could take the easy path, if there was a more interesting one available. I do not wish for the strain between father and son that has appeared among my own father’s children; a petty feud between brothers is not enough reason to keep my son from his happiness.”

“Then...” Maitimo could barely breathe, so hopeful and terrified was he.

“I will give Findekáno to you, Nelyo,” Nolofinwë assented. “You may wed him, because he loves you—and as much as I may not wish to see it, sometimes, it is clear how happy you make him, and he you. Go, ask him to marry you; I give you my blessing.”

“And mine also,” Anairë added. “Know we do not do this lightly, Maitimo; for all these long months we have struggled and prayed and searched our fëar to know what is right. Do not prove us wrong.”

“I will not,” Maitimo vowed, living for just a moment in this fantasy he had made half-real. “I will love him until the end of Arda.” And _that_ was true, even if it was not reciprocated. “Thank you, thank you!”

He rose, and was surprised by an embrace from his uncle and then his aunt, and he wept as he rushed from Nolofinwë’s study and back home, eager to share the news with Findekáno—and afraid to discover what madness his own father had wrought.

* * *

“I still can barely believe it,” Findekáno said, tears in his eyes as he examined the beautiful ring on his finger. “We are _betrothed_ , Russo. Betrothed! To be married!”

Maitimo couldn’t believe it either—mostly because it was not true, at least not between them. And yet he could almost let his guard down, show the truth of his fëa, because with Finno leaning into him, sounding so very _happy_ , with Maitimo’s ring on his finger—

Well, it was not Maitimo’s ring, in truth. _That_ was the most astonishing thing of all: it was _Míriel’s_ ring, given to them by Fëanáro himself in the most pointed political statement he could possibly make. He had forged the green jewel from Míriel’s own betrothal ring into a silver band, and planned to place it into the original gold one for their wedding day.

Fëanáro had not only agreed to give his eldest son away to a Nolofinwion, he had done so in the most outrageous Fëanárian way possible. _This_ was the wild thing he had been planning, a way to so outdo his half-brother while still making a show of unity that could not be topped.

When Maitimo had officially presented the ring to his betrothed in the private ceremony with only their immediate families, Finwë, and Indis, Nolofinwë had fixed his half-brother with an icy stare for a solid minute before he burst into laughter.

“I suppose you think this is a victory,” he’d said at last, and Fëanáro smirked. “You cannot expect me to pluck the ring from my mother’s finger and give it to Maitimo!”

“I am fond of my ring,” Indis had said with a smile. “Fëanáro, I loved your mother dearly, and I am deeply touched that you would honor her memory in the union of our lines. I am sure she is joyous upon this day, even as she rests in the Halls.”

Maitimo had stared nervously, still holding Findekáno’s hands, waiting for his father to erupt. But Fëanáro took stock of Nolofinwë’s bemused acceptance of his defeat, Maitimo’s nearness to his betrothed, and Finwë’s tears of joy and sorrow and only nodded, not even all that stiffly—and Maitimo realized that Finno’s scheme had _worked_!

But of course it would not _continue_ to work if they broke their engagement as soon as it officially began. So thus it was that at Finwë’s coronation anniversary celebration, a full two months after they had exchanged rings (Finno had given Maitimo a sapphire set in a silver band, engraved with vine patterns; it was the most beautiful thing Maitimo had ever seen and he ached at the thought of giving it up), they were still together.

Maitimo couldn’t help but twine his fingers with Findekáno’s, his thumb brushing against the jewel in wonder. Finno leaned up for a kiss, and he granted it, though now with every touch he felt a wave of sorrow, barely held back from washing over Finno’s mind. He almost wished he had remained oblivious to his own feelings, for surely that would be better than this mournful ache he carried with him now—and yet, to know the depth of his heart, to appreciate Finno to the fullest...that was something he cherished even amid his anguish. He only wished Finno could cherish it, too.

“Findekáno,” he said, choking up a bit, and what he wanted was to open his mind to him, to say _I love you, I am in love with you. I want to marry you, truly. Will you marry me? I know you already said yes, but I want to ask again, so you know how much I mean it. I want you to return my love in full. Please, Finno, I adore you, I treasure you, I—I desire you. I want to be with you always. I want us to be one._

But he didn’t say any of that, and he kept their fëar separate, restraining himself from opening an ósanwë connection with his dearly beloved friend. When Finno looked up, eyebrows quirked curiously, Maitimo felt a wave of guilt crash over him. How could he want to put the burden of his feelings on his best friend? They had done all this to _save_ their friendship, not to ruin it. Maitimo truly would be selfish to claim Findekáno as his own, even if half of what he wanted was to be claimed by Findekáno. (He let himself dream of that, now. Reality was painful enough; he could not deny himself the fantasy of Findekáno’s hands on his body, Findekáno’s soul melting into his, Findekáno’s— _everything_ , everywhere.)

“Russo?” Findekáno prompted, and he realized he’d been silent for too long, caught up in his carefully-guarded thoughts.

“Finno, I...” He swallowed. “This is all just...so much. I can scarcely believe it’s _working_. Our fathers haven’t had another fight, a _real_ one, since we started doing this. Your father is letting me _marry_ you. _My_ father gave you his _mother’s_ ring. His mother’s ring, to the grandson of Indis! I almost have hope for the future!”

“And look,” Findekáno said with a grin, “they are even sitting at the same table, and Fëanáro doesn’t even have the heart to be furious he’s on Haru’s left instead of his right.”

The three-hundredth anniversary of Finwë’s coronation had at last arrived, and everyone in Tirion who had any interest in politics was here at the palace. Even those who did not still benefited from the celebrations going on in the public square, where food and wine flowed freely, and joyous song filled the air.

Írissë was telling a greatly over-exaggerated hunting story to Artanis, whose family had come all the way from Alqualondë for the celebration; Findaráto waltzed through the room with a nís on one arm and a nér on the other, charming both of them spectacularly; Makalaurë played his harp incessantly. Maitimo’s other brothers were off somewhere causing trouble, no doubt, though he knew the Ambarussar at least clung to Nerdanel’s side, intimidated by the crowd.

He and Findekáno sat in a shadowy corner, having snuck off together after the third course of supper. Maitimo found comfort in Finno’s arms even still, and he needed it tonight. Haru was going to announce their engagement as soon as dessert was over, and after _that..._

“How are we going to end this?” he asked softly, not daring to look Findekáno in the eyes for fear he would see too deeply into his mind.

Finno stilled, though he didn’t let go of Maitimo’s hand. “We’ll have to wait awhile,” he murmured. “I mean...long enough that everyone has more or less accepted it, and we can see if our fathers will truly settle into this peace pact of theirs.”

“Well,” Maitimo said, his throat dry, “they are both very stubborn. How will we know if it’s real after only a few months? They could pretend for...years.”

“And the wedding will be a year from today,” Findekáno mused. “Maitimo, I...you know that I meant it when I said I would marry you, right?”

Maitimo’s heart stopped. “I meant it too,” he whispered. “Finno...”

“If that’s what we need to do,” Findekáno continued, but Maitimo shook his head.

“No,” he said, though he felt as if he tore his own heart out to do it. He had to stay strong, for Finno’s sake. “I couldn’t do that to you. Finno, you’re my _best friend_. I wouldn’t want to trap you in a union that wasn’t your heart’s truest desire. I—I believe you when you say you would do this for our friendship, but marriage is—it’s something else. It’s serious. We can’t go back on this, once we’ve done it.”

Findekáno took a deep breath. “Russandol, I knew this might happen when I suggested this. When you asked me to marry you, officially, I—it was the kind of proposal I’d always dreamed of. No, it _was_ what I’d always dreamed of. I _know_ how serious this is. Russo, I—”

A trumpet sounded, startling them apart. Maitimo had been hanging on to his every word, hoping beyond hope, because the things he was saying sounded so much like what his heart yearned for—but the moment was ruined, and Findekáno jumped to his feet, refusing to meet Maitimo’s eye.

“His Majesty, High King Finwë, has an announcement!” cried the herald, and Maitimo paled, rising to stand beside his cousin.

“Oh, dear,” he said, feeling as if he might faint. “That’s us, isn’t it?”

“We’d better go up there,” Finno said. He turned to Maitimo, his long lashes shading those bright blue eyes. “Come on, Russo.”

“Wait,” he said, scrambling to salvage something of the moment they had very nearly had, letting just a whisper of his yearning through. “Finno, would you—will you kiss me, first? For good luck?”

And now Findekáno _did_ lock eyes with him, and his smile was brighter than the Trees, his own mind opening momentarily for Maitimo to feel his love.

“Of course,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him down. “For you, I would do anything.”

The kiss was brief, but tender in a way that made Maitimo’s head spin. But they had to let each other go, and return to their fathers’ sides, as Finwë rose and called all present to attention to inform the world of his grandsons’ betrothal.

* * *

In the chaos after the announcement, Maitimo barely got to speak a word to his betrothed, for all Findekáno was standing right next to him. What little he did say was snuck through ósanwë, so quick and harried that he let his guard down in momentary flashes just to feel Finno’s familiar spirit pressed close to his.

Hours passed as they accepted congratulations, both forced and genuine, from a parade of courtiers he’d never met before or at least could not remember. Their relatives showed about as much tact as could be expected; those who had already known of their engagement cracking tasteless jokes or giving pointed stares, and those who had only just found out failing to conceal their shock.

Arafinwë was perhaps the worst offender when it came to the latter; he stammered as he wished them well and it was only Eärwen’s firm yet genuine remark on how happy their mothers must be that allowed him enough time to recover and ask what they wished for a wedding gift. Maitimo had not thought that far ahead—even his daydreams of the wedding seemed impossibly far off, as well as simply impossible altogether—and he blushed as Findekáno eagerly listed off his wishes for furniture, horses, art pieces to decorate their new home...

“Aunt Nerdanel will surely craft some statues,” he said with a smile so bright it took Maitimo’s breath away, “but I know you make jewelry out of pearls, Aunt Eärwen, and I can just imagine how beautiful a chandelier dripping in pearls would be, lit up by candlelight!”

Maitimo could have cried with longing for such a life with his beloved friend, but he knew such domestic bliss was out of his reach. He was grateful when Eärwen and Arafinwë moved on, and the next gaggle of unfamiliar courtiers rushed to distract them with palace gossip.

The celebration wore on into the evening, and Maitimo found himself pulled away from Findekáno’s side by a group of níssi with stern opinions on wedding celebrations. A few néri cornered him, too, with vague threats about treating Findekáno right; he wondered how many of them had kissed Finno before, and how many of them had only wanted to. (He tried desperately not to think how many of them _Finno_ had wanted to kiss instead of him, and if any of them would end up as Finno’s _real_ husband after this was all over.)

He was astonishingly grateful when Findaráto appeared out of nowhere with his charming smile and a summons from Fëanáro, even when Maitimo did not particularly wish to submit himself to his father’s prolonged and overbearing smugness at having one-upped Nolofinwë with his gift of Míriel’s ring. He was even _more_ grateful when Findaráto instead pulled him into a side room of the palace and procured a glass of wine, locking the door behind them.

“What—” Maitimo began, but Findaráto grinned and offered him the glass.

“You didn’t truly think Fëanáro would send _me_ to fetch you!” He laughed. “No, I simply saw how uncomfortable you were and decided you deserved rescuing. I’ll do the same for Findekáno later; I wanted to give you some space from all this madness, and frankly from each other. You may not see it that way now, besotted as you are with him, but soon enough you’ll _never_ be parted, so it’s good to have some time to yourself while you can!”

“Am I really so obviously besotted?” Maitimo asked. He sipped the wine, made a surprised noise at how good it was, then took an unprincely gulp.

Findaráto chuckled. “You’re mad for each other, anyone can see it. I didn’t know about your betrothal, but I _did_ wonder how your fathers had missed the heart eyes you’d been making at each other!” He tapped his nose. “Actually, I _am_ astonished my uncles agreed to this. It is wildly out of character for them both.”

“That’s the whole point,” Maitimo said earnestly. In the haze of the wine and his eagerness to explain to Findaráto—who, while not especially close to him, had always been a good friend in times of need and certainly had an aura of trustworthiness—he quite forgot that the scheme was supposed to be a secret. “We’re doing this to _force_ our fathers to get along. If we’re to be married, they _have_ to choose us over their feud!”

Findaráto blinked. “That’s...awfully clever of you, Maitimo.”

“Oh, it was all Finno’s idea.” Maitimo beamed and took another drink, feeling more relaxed than he had in ages. “He’s brilliant.”

“Are you...” Findaráto tilted his head. “I could have sworn you were doing this for love, just looking at you. Secluded corners, fond glances, the way you lean into each other...”  
  
“I do love him!” Maitimo said hurriedly, and _oh_ it felt good to say that. “I’m—he’s the best nér I’ve ever met. I didn’t—I didn’t know I even _liked_ néri before all this, or that I liked _anyone_ , if I’m being honest, but Finno is...” He couldn’t find the words, and just gazed helplessly at Findaráto. He opened his mind to his cousin, and felt him gently look within before retreating.

“Well, that’s a relief,” Findaráto teased, whispering with ósanwë, _How sweet!_ “But you said the ‘whole point’ was to heal the rift between the lines of Indis and Míriel, which is not the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

Maitimo’s face fell, and he pulled his mental guards back up. “I’m—I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell him,” Findaráto assured, with the same glint in his eye Carnistir got when promising not to spill someone’s secrets. He meant it, usually, unless he could use that information to his advantage, and Maitimo suddenly worried that he had accidentally confided in the wrong person.

“It doesn’t matter if you tell him,” he said heavily, his shoulders drooping. He nearly dropped his wine glass, fumbling to catch it at the last moment. The only reason he didn’t spill it was because he’d already drunk all its contents. “Like I said...it was his idea. He...he doesn’t know I’m in love with him.”

Findaráto stared, his calculative, gleeful smirk falling into something that resembled true concern. “You mean this is all a ruse?”

“Yes,” Maitimo admitted. “Oh, I should _not_ have told you that— _please_ don’t tell our fathers, they can’t know. We need them to think it’s real, at least for a little longer—”

“I won’t,” he promised, and this time his eyes were serious. “You could’ve fooled me, Maitimo. You’re a very good actor—and just now, with ósanwë...”

“It helps that I’m not acting,” Maitimo said miserably. “I mean—I thought I was, at first. But then I realized how deeply I care for him, and—and how the nature of that love has changed over time, and...” He shook his head. “He doesn’t love me in return, not the same way. He’s been so kind to me, so good, he’s my best friend, I can’t—I can’t lose him over this, Findaráto! But my heart is _breaking_ , with every kiss! It’s so hard to keep my fëa guarded from him, but...”

“Do you really think a nér who clings to you the way Findekáno does, who kisses you the way he does, who looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky and raised the Trees from saplings, doesn’t love you in return?” Findaráto challenged. “Either he’s the best actor in all of Arda, and should audition for the next show at Tirion Center Stage, or your love isn’t quite as unrequited as you think.”

Maitimo choked on air. “Findaráto, he—I’m not—surely he would’ve _said_ something if he felt that way about me—! I would have _felt_ it—!”

“You are _incredibly_ dense, Maitimo,” Findaráto said, so gently Maitimo could not find it in himself to be offended. “You said it yourself that you love him, and yet—have _you_ told him? Have you let him into your heart?”

“No,” he admitted, “but—!”

“You _should_ , then,” Findaráto said firmly. “Maitimo, _everyone_ can see how much he loves you. And we can all see how much you love _him_ , too. You’re probably the only people in all of Tirion who don’t realize how in love you are! No actor is _that_ good. If he hasn’t confessed to you, it’s because he’s waiting for _you_. I wouldn’t be surprised if this was his plan all along, to get you to fall in love with him. If that’s the case, I would bet all the pearls in Alqualondë that he’s afraid to push you any more than he already has.”

“You really think so?” Maitimo whispered, tears blurring his vision.

“I _know_ so.” Findaráto touched his arm gently. “You’re only going to make more of a fool of yourself if you call off your marriage. Your plan is working, and you love each other—it’s a win-win situation! Please just _tell_ him how you feel so you can get over this melodramatic pining.”

“He—he said he would actually marry me, if it came down to it,” Maitimo said. “Do you think...that he really meant it? Not for our scheme, but for...me?”

“It sounds to me like he’s done everything he possibly can to make you realize he’s in love with you, short of saying it outright,” Findaráto said. “He must be despairing that you haven’t told him. I know _I_ would be—although I prefer to be open about _my_ feelings, and would never end up in this situation in the first place.”

“But I’m...” Maitimo shook his head. “Even if he _does_ love me—” and _oh_ , those words sent a thrill through him; his fëa sang with joy at the thought— “he deserves someone better.”

“That’s nonsense,” Findaráto snapped. “Do you think that Fëanáro bothered with what he ‘deserved’ as the king’s firstborn son when he chose your mother, a common craftsnís? Do you think our grandfather thought of anything but love when he broke every tradition to wed my grandmother? And besides, Maitimo, _look_ at yourself.”

“But I...” he began to protest, only for Findaráto to procure a hand mirror from his pocket and shove it into his face, so that he had no choice but to look.

Maitimo _knew_ he was fair; his mother had named him for his beauty, after all. But now, even in his disheveled, maudlin state, he realized just how lovely he could be. His pale skin was dotted with light freckles, the gift of Laurelin’s rays, and marred only by a small scar on his cheek from a minor hunting accident some years ago. (Finno found it endearing, a distant part of himself remembered. He kissed it sometimes, and called him a brave hunter, for all it was his own fault he’d been cut.)

And Finno had sighed over his eyes, too, he realized: a clear, sparkling turquoise, nearly uncommon a shade among the Noldor as his long auburn hair. That hair was a gift from his mother’s line, and at times he resented how it made him stand out among the princes of the Noldor, but when Finno curled his fingers in his hair and compared it to the fire of his spirit he couldn’t help but be proud of its unique coloring.

Outfitted in the finery befitting someone of his station, his hair stood out all the more against the dark blues and grays of his robes. Green and silver thread subtly accented the cooler colors, woven expertly by Carnistir, who took most after their grandmother’s trade. His hair was draped in jewels: a slender silver crown with a sapphire gem reminiscent of Nolofinwëan colors, connected to strings that wrapped around his head, dripping with green and blue beads, clipped into his russet hair. It was a gift from Nolofinwë and Anairë, an attempt to mark him as their law-son as Fëanáro had so thoroughly done in giving Findekáno Míriel’s ring, and Findekáno’s eyes had shined when he saw Maitimo wearing it for the first time. (“You look like you’re _mine_ ,” he’d confessed in tones barely above a whisper, and Maitimo had never wanted to belong to anyone before but in that moment he knew would give himself utterly to Finno.) He was a princely sight, indeed.

In fact, looking at himself in Findaráto’s mirror now, he realized just how loved each of his features was—not by crowds of admirers, but by the one he held most dear. Maitimo loved Findekáno beyond reason, their scheme was proof enough of that, and he felt weak at the knees sometimes when he looked upon his radiant betrothed: his gorgeous dark skin, the curl of his hair, braided with gold ribbons, the way his nose scrunched up when he smiled, the piercing blue of his eyes, the smoothness of his palms when they held hands, the soft warmth of his lips on Maitimo’s own...and, if he was being honest, the ripple of muscle hidden beneath his robes most of the time, but impossible not to stare at when he watched Findekáno change, the strength in his arms when he lifted Maitimo onto his lap as they kissed, the heat that pooled in Maitimo’s belly when they were pressed so close against each other it was impossible not to notice Finno’s own arousal, not just a reaction to another’s body flush against his own but a desire for _Maitimo_ —

Maitimo saw himself in a new light, now, and realized that as much as he found every part of Findekáno beautiful, wanted every part of him (he shuddered to think how much he _wanted_ , how much his hröa _ached_ each time he imagined what it would be like to join with Finno, in body as well as spirit, to become one in every way)—as much as he adored and desire Findekáno, Finno had plenty of reason to feel the same way about _him_. And indeed he had all but _said_ that outright—had _implied_ it a thousand times in a thousand ways, with every touch and look and soft confession that truly was the kind of thing you said only to your lover, with every brief caress of his fëa against Maitimo’s own, every tender meeting of their minds.

“You are the eldest son of the eldest son of the High King of the Noldor!” Findaráto cried, snapping him out of his self-reflection. “You are _stunningly_ gorgeous, the mysterious and aloof young nér that all the young Eldar sigh over and yet feel too intimidated to approach! You are quite possibly the best match for _anyone_ , Maitimo, _especially_ him! Why do you think Haru is so thrilled at this engagement? It isn’t the closeness of your relation, it’s the politics, and the promise of peace between his sons. If anything, Findekáno might worry that _he’s_ not good enough for _you_!”

“Of course he is!” Maitimo said indignantly. “He’s more than I deserve—”

“Shut up about _deserving_ ,” Findaráto insisted. “You’re going to drive me mad with all this self-pity, and I’ve only known the ‘truth’ of your relationship for half an hour! _Tell him how you feel_ , Maitimo, in no uncertain terms, and I _promise_ you’ll make him happier than he’s ever been.”

Maitimo stumbled to his feet, shoving the mirror back into Findaráto’s hands. “I’m—” he stammered, overwhelmed with hope, nearly tripping over his robes. “He’s—we could—!”

“ _Yes_ , you fool,” Findaráto sighed. “Don’t torture yourself any longer!”

He said some more, probably good advice, but Maitimo was already gone, hope and love addling his mind and heart and body more than they ever had before.

He loved Findekáno, and _Findekáno loved him_ , and they had _already_ won their fathers’ approval and told the world. Now it was time to tell each _other_ , and Maitimo would not put off that glorious moment for even a second longer.

* * *

Looking back, it was probably a good thing that Nolofinwë had already taken his family home by the time Maitimo stumbled back into the main hall searching for Findekáno: he was much drunker than he realized in the moment, giddy with hope, and could barely get a sentence out of his mouth. He’d only have made a fool of himself if he’d confessed that night—but it was fëa-crushing to search and not find, to be _so close_ to joy and resolution and then be denied.

Still, now he had time to _plan_ his confession, to work it over in his mind, to convince Findekáno he was worth it, just in case there were any lingering doubts. Without the heady confidence lent to him by Findaráto and the wine, every time he opened his mouth the words caught in his throat, but Maitimo _noticed_ , now, the tender way Finno looked at him, the longing with which he clung to him, the yearning in every kiss, and he was awed and humbled that Finno loved him so much, so deeply.

“Today,” he promised himself one morning, staring at his reflection in the mirror. “Today I will tell him.”

“Tell him what?” said Makalaurë, leaning against the doorframe, and Maitimo jumped and cursed his brother.

“I’m—!” he began. “It’s—it’s nothing, Kano, don’t even—”

“Whatever,” Makalaurë sighed, rolling his eyes. “I know I’m nothing compared to your precious Finno; you didn’t even tell me you were in love before you announced your courtship, clearly I’m not worth confiding in anymore... Are you ready for your outing? If I’m going to chaperone your lover’s retreat I’d rather get it over with sooner than later.”

“Kano, _no_ , it’s—it’s not like that,” he protested, and suddenly he knew that there was no way he would be able to tell Findekáno how he felt, not if Makalaurë was right there watching them, and not if he had no one to hold him accountable. “I’m...can I tell you the truth?”

Makalaurë must have heard the hesitance in his voice, for his eyes softened and he closed the door, coming to sit at the foot of Maitimo’s bed. “Of course, Nelyo,” he said. “What is it? Have you...fought, or something?”

“No,” Maitimo said, and took a deep breath. “It’s—I didn’t tell you because I didn’t know.”

“What?” Makalaurë frowned. “Wait...what?”

“It’s—it _was_ all a ruse,” Maitimo confessed, and Makalaurë’s mouth flopped open in astonishment. Quickly Maitimo opened his mind to his brother and tried to explain with both words and feelings: “I mean—look, I didn’t tell you I was in love with him because I didn’t even know it at that point. It all happened so fast, but we needed to do _something_ to stop our fathers tearing this family apart, and he suggested it and I agreed and then we were courting and now we’re betrothed and—”

“You’re marrying him to spite Atar?” Makalaurë cried, eyes flashing, fëa recoiling at the thought. “Nelyo, that’s _cruel_ , we all can see how much he loves you—”

“I love him!” Maitimo interrupted. “I do, I do! But he...he thinks I don’t, and _that’s_ what I’m going to tell him today. That I do. That I want him, I love him, not just for this foolish game. For who _he_ is, for what he makes me feel—”

“That’s enough!” Makalaurë said. “I don’t need to hear what he makes you _feel_ —”

“I meant _happiness_ , not—not _lust_ —” But Maitimo flushed furiously, because Finno made him feel that too.

“All this time and he hasn’t known?” Makalaurë shook his head. “You should have told him the minute you figured it out, you dunce, or at least let him _feel_ it. Playing with his feelings like that...”  
  
“I didn’t know he loved me,” Maitimo said, his voice small. “Findaráto says he does, and...and I _think_ he does, but—he hasn’t _said_ it, or shared his heart, anymore than I, and...”

“If I have to hear another word of this nonsense I am going to leave home and join Oromë’s hunt like Tyelko,” Makalaurë announced. “You’re lucky that I’m the one who’s chaperoning you today. I will give you exactly twenty minutes to sort this out, twenty minutes on your own without my prying eyes. And then I will return and sing you the sappiest love ballad I can conjure up in that time, for you are the most ridiculous fools I’ve ever had the misfortune to watch falling in love.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Maitimo said gruffly, pulling his brother into his arms in a fierce hug. Makalaurë squirmed for a moment, but then leaned into the embrace, chuckling softly and whispering in his mind _Did you really think I wouldn’t give you this?_

“Let’s go, then,” Makalaurë said. “He’s been waiting for you long enough, don’t you think?”

* * *

“Finno,” Maitimo began, his heart pounding so fast he half-feared it would burst from his chest, “I have something to tell you.”

Findekáno paused in his chattering about Arakáno’s latest art project, looking at him sidelong. “Oh?” he asked, voice light. “What is it?”

“Finno,” he said again, and swallowed, calming his nerves. Finno slipped his hands into Maitimo’s own, and he felt a rush of warmth wash over him. He could do this; he _could_. Findaráto and Makalaurë said Finno loved him, and this was proof, was it not? He could do this.

“Finno, I—I’m in love,” he confessed, and immediately a weight lifted off his shoulders he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. He felt so free and light he could fly, but only if Finno would fly with him. He opened his mind to share the feeling, joyous and hopeful and vulnerable—

Findekáno drew back, his shock apparent in the trembling of his chin. He was so _cute_ like that, Maitimo thought desperately, but he—he didn’t look overjoyed, as Maitimo had anticipated, and suddenly all the weight he’d so gleefully thrown off came crashing back down to settle into his gut. He reached out desperately, trying to ask him _What’s wrong? Do you not—?_ but Finno had completely closed off his mind, and Maitimo’s pleas hit a mental wall that separated them.

“You’re...in love?” Findekáno asked, his voice strained.

“Yes,” he admitted, because he couldn’t take it back _now_. “I’m in love with—with the handsomest nér I’ve ever met. He has the kindest heart, and the brightest mind, and he...he made me realize so much about myself and I love him. I’ve known him for so long but over the past months I’ve grown even closer to him, and—and now,” he swallowed, “now I’ve found the courage to tell him how I feel.”

 _I love you,_ is what he wanted to say, but with the guilt and doubt and the tears springing in Findekáno’s eyes—not tears of joy, he realized in horror—and the way he didn’t let Maitimo see into his heart, he knew he had to...to _distance_ himself from Finno, just a bit, not pressure him, when clearly he had misjudged—

“That’s...that’s...” Findekáno took a shaky breath. “Maitimo, that’s...wonderful.” But it didn’t sound like he meant what he said and oh, _Eru_ , Maitimo had gone and made a fool of himself, how could their friendship survive this, they’d have to break the betrothal off early and as he imagined them drifting apart he thought his very fëa would break.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I didn’t mean to—to hurt you—”

“No, no.” Findekáno shook his head, not looking him in the eyes. “No, I’m...you deserve happiness, Maitimo.”

 _Maitimo_ —he’d never been more upset to hear his amilessë. Where had _Russo_ gone? Where had the intimacy of their friendship, their—not their love, he reminded himself, his world falling apart around him. Because if Finno really _was_ in love with him, as Findaráto had promised, as Makalaurë had believed, he wouldn’t be acting like this.

“So do you,” he whispered, though he never thought Finno’s happiness would mean his own misery.

“I imagine you’ll want to call off our...the betrothal?” Findekáno said quietly. “Sooner than we planned, I mean. Our plan worked, after all, there’s no need to...to keep up pretenses, not when you...”

“I,” he choked out, because _this wasn’t how it was supposed to go_ , he was supposed to be joyous, he was supposed to be kissing Finno and _meaning_ it, he was supposed to be letting every endearment he’d suppressed flow out of him, he was supposed to be sharing his whole heart and mind and fëa with his beloved, he was supposed to be _marrying Finno_ —

“If you think it’s a good idea,” he said at last, his voice breaking. “Finn...dekáno, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s for the best,” Findekáno said, and glanced up briefly, the pain in his eyes so clear it nearly brought tears to Maitimo’s own. Why had he opened his stupid mouth? Why had he ruined everything for the chance at something he shouldn’t have felt entitled to? Why had he forced Findekáno into this position, to make him turn Maitimo down gently, to make him break his friend’s heart?

“Findekáno,” he whispered, even as Finno turned to go, “wait...!”

Finno paused, biting his lip. “Maitimo?”

“Could you...” It was _selfish_ , cruelly so, to ask this of him when he’d made his true feelings known, but Maitimo simply could not help himself. “Would you kiss me, one last time?”

“Are you sure?” Findekáno asked softly.

Maitimo nodded, his vision blurring with tears. He didn’t want their last kiss to be so painful, but he needed it to—to mean something, not like the quick peck hello Finno had pressed to his lips only a half hour or so ago.

“Of course,” Finno agreed. “I...I hope you will still be my friend?”

“If you’ll have me,” Maitimo croaked. But he knew nothing would ever be the same between them again.

“ _Always_ ,” Findekáno promised, and oh how Maitimo had wanted to hear those words but not like _this_ , never like this—

Findekáno reached up and kissed him, slow and sorrowful, and Maitimo clung to him, never wanting it to end. But end it did, as all things must, and he let his friend—nothing else, not his lover or his partner or his betrothed—walk away, free at last of the burden that was Maitimo’s tragic love.

Right on time, Makalaurë showed up belting out the raunchiest love song he could write in a brief twenty minutes, but he faltered at the sight of Maitimo staring forlornly after Findekáno’s retreating figure.

“ _—and my love will not leave you agai..._ Oh, dear,” he sighed.

“I am not in the mood,” Maitimo growled, shoving his brother away.

“What _happened_?!” Makalaurë cried after him, but Maitimo broke into a sprint, running to find a place to sob brokenly where no one could hear him.

* * *

“What _exactly_ did you say to him?” Makalaurë demanded, not any gentler despite his low and quiet tone.

Maitimo buried his face in his pillow. He just wanted his brother to leave him _alone_ to nurse his broken heart in peace—he didn’t want to be reminded of his folly, of how Finno would never love him—he didn’t want to think about that conversation _at all_ , and yet Makalaurë insisted he repeat it in excruciating detail!

“If I tell you, will you go away?” he said, his voice muffled in the pillow.

“...Yes.”

Maitimo sighed, rolling over and wiping tears from his eyes. “ _Fine,_ then. I told him I was in love with him. And then he made it quite clear that he was not in love with me. He was very kind about it, I can hardly resent him, even though—”

“ _Exactly_ what you said,” Makalaurë repeated. “Word for word, if you can remember.” He prodded Maitimo’s mind. _Let me in, show me the memory if you can’t—_

He ground his teeth, pushing his brother away. “What does it _matter_!” he cried. “He loves me not—”

“See, I don’t believe that for a moment!” Makalaurë snapped. “Either he got cold feet and didn’t know how to tell you how he felt, or you spoke your feelings in the most confusing way possible and he got the wrong idea. And since this Findekáno _Astaldo_ we’re talking about, I am leaning towards the latter!”

Maitimo threw the pillow at him. Makalaurë tossed it back, and Maitimo caught it and held it tight to his chest, on the verge of tears again.

“Don’t get my hopes up,” Maitimo whispered. “Please, Kano, I...I can’t do this again...”

“Humor me,” Makalaurë said. “Come on. Tell me what you said, and what he said, and I promise I’ll leave you alone after that.”

“Fine.” He took a shuddering breath, remembering this most painful moment. “I...said I was in love. And he seemed—surprised. Disappointed. So I told him what I loved about him, everything that makes him beautiful and special to me, and he told me that was ‘wonderful’ but _clearly_ it wasn’t enough to make him w-want me.” He bit his lip, fighting back tears.

“Nelyo,” Makalaurë said slowly, “did you specify _who_ you were in love with?”

“What?” Maitimo blinked, baffled. “I...who else would I be...? It’s him, it’s only him, I never even _thought_ about any of this before him!”

Makalaurë rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Eru, you two are stupid,” he muttered.

“ _Hey_!”

“It’s true!” Makalaurë kicked him, and Maitimo launched himself at his brother, wrestling until he pinned him to the ground. He almost smiled—but then he remembered that Makalaurë had insulted _Finno_ as well as him, and he gave him an extra shove for good measure.

“Get off me, you brute,” Makalaurë groaned. “I swear, you’re as heavy as an oliphaunt—though I bet Findekáno would _like_ that—”

“Stop,” Maitimo snapped, leaning back to let Makalaurë scramble free. “Don’t—don’t _tease_ me like that, not _now_.”

“I’m your little brother, I will tease you as much as I want!”

“As if I don’t have five _other_ little brothers to do that for you! You’re the only one of us besides me who’s of age, you shouldn’t act like a child—”

“ _You’re_ the childish one, Nelyo, I swear!” Makalaurë rolled his eyes. “You didn’t _once_ name Findekáno in your grand speech? Or drop the words ‘with you’ after ‘I’m in love’?”

Maitimo could’ve _sworn_ he had, but he thought back and—

“I...I guess not?” he said. “But I thought it was obvious who I was talking about, even so. I told him how kind he was, how smart, how I’d known him for so long and yet he still showed me new things about myself...” Now he shared the memory with his brother, the speech he’d so painstakingly crafted, and how gently he had been denied.

“Augh, you’re besotted!” Makalaurë made a face. “And I thought it was bad when you were trying to suck each other’s faces off—pining is even _worse_!”

“But what does that matter anyway?” Maitimo bemoaned, ignoring him. “He—he said we should break off our engagement. He doesn’t want me, Kano, and I—I didn’t think it would _hurt_ this much. I almost...I almost wish I’d never fallen in love with him at all.”

“Nelyo, I don’t think he understood what you were saying,” Makalaurë said. “He thinks you’re in love with _someone else_ , that’s why he was so broken up about it!”

Maitimo scoffed; the idea was absurd, and no matter what Makalaurë believed, Findekáno was not an idiot.

“I bet he’s gone to—you said you told Findaráto, right? I bet he’s gone crying to Findaráto about how you’ve found some other nér to replace him, and he’s—”

“Nelyo, Nelyo!” Two sets of small feet came pounding up the stairs, and the Ambarussar slammed open the door. “Nelyo, your husband’s here!”

“He’s not my husband,” Maitimo said automatically, miserable as he thought _and he never will be, either—_

“Yet,” Makalaurë added cheerfully, dragging Maitimo to his feet. “Come on, Nelyo—you’ll never be married if you keep avoiding him!”

“But...!”

Despite his protests, he let his brothers drag him downstairs to where Findekáno waited for him. Hopefully he would be kind and gentle with Maitimo’s broken heart—no, he would be, Finno was good like that—unless he was here not to see Maitimo, but to return Míriel’s ring to Fëanáro...

That thought nearly stopped him in his tracks, but with the twins tugging at his arms and Makalaurë laughing and pushing him from behind he didn’t have much choice but to come face-to-face with his once-betrothed.

Findekáno looked nearly as wretched as Maitimo felt—well, not truly; even in sorrow he was beautiful—and he ached to reach out and hold him, to berate the one who caused him such pain...! But that person was Maitimo himself, he knew, so he would simply have to wallow in misery for all his days as punishment for making Finno cry.

Behind Findekáno stood Findaráto, looking nearly as exasperated as Makalaurë. He pushed Findekáno forward, exclaiming, “Well, there he is! Tell him!”

“It’s—it’s alright,” Maitimo said hoarsely. “You don’t have to...I’ll take the ring, you don’t have to face my father...it was bad enough you had to do it the first time—”

“I would face your father a thousand times for you,” Findekáno whispered. “Russo, I—I know you’ve found your heart’s love, but I...you should know...” He frowned, glancing around at their audience. “Can...c-can we speak in private?”

“You need a chaperone,” Makalaurë drawled.

“And apparently an interpreter,” Findaráto added. “But—ten minutes to yourselves. If we come back and we _don’t_ have a smooch session to interrupt—”

Maitimo’s face burned, but when Finno grabbed his hand and led him outside to the shade of a plum tree, he followed. For a moment they stood in silence, still holding hands, and Maitimo’s heart clenched. This—he had not expected this. Was it really a second chance, like Makalaurë believed? And if Findaráto agreed—if Findaráto had brought Finno here _because_ he agreed—

“Finno—” he began, and at the same moment Findekáno blurted out, “Russo—”

They broke off, staring into one another’s eyes, and then laughed. Hesitantly, fearfully, Maitimo opened his mind to Finno as he had not done since the night he realized his true feelings. Findekáno gasped sharply, then did the same, and Maitimo’s fëa reached out to his, and he _felt_ —

Love, so deep, so true it overwhelmed him; _want you need you missed you_ ; pain, heartbreak, sorrow that cut to the bone; _can’t have you how did this happen I thought for sure_ ; and now again love and hope and elation as he saw his own heart reflected back at him; _love you love you love you always and forever_ —

Maitimo pulled Findekáno close and held him, tender and sweet like he always wanted to, _always_ , and then Finno was kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him, and Maitimo kissed him back, and he never wanted to stop unless it was to do _more_ —

“I love you,” he said, the words bursting out of him, “I love you, Finno, I love you so much, I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, you’re the only one, I’m sorry if you don’t love me back but _I love you_ —”

Finno shut him up with a kiss, and he was crying, and Maitimo was crying too. “You _idiot_ ,” Findekáno breathed into his mouth, “ _of course I love you_. I thought—I thought you found someone _else_ —”

“It’s _you_ ,” Maitimo wept, and then added for good measure, “you _idiot_ ,” and they were laughing as they kissed and cried and held each other and Maitimo realized with a soaring, soulful joy that he shared with Findekáno that he _didn’t have to let go_ , not ever, because he loved Finno and Finno loved him and not even their fathers stood between them because they’d already done the work of convincing them.

“Please tell me you didn’t break off our betrothal already,” Findekáno rasped between kisses. “Please, please, Russo, I want to marry you so badly, it’s all I’ve wanted for—for years—to be yours, to have you be _mine_ —”

“I couldn't,” Maitimo growled, and he was already so impossibly close to his beloved, in both fëa and hröa, that he could scarcely imagine being any closer, and yet as Finno pressed against him and ground at his hip he felt—he felt—

“I’m _yours_ ,” he promised, pulling back slightly so he could look Findekáno in his stunning blue eyes. “I could never leave you—I was so afraid you would leave me—that you’d come to return my ring—”

“I would sooner die,” Findekáno declared, and kissed him again, shaking in Maitimo’s arms. “ _Years_ , Russo, it’s been _years_ of me wanting you—I kissed other néri but it was always _you_ that I wanted and I thought—I thought if, if I could have your kisses if only for a short time, while we played out this scheme, if I could live my fantasy—I thought that would make it alright to live without you for the rest of my life, if I could have you for but a moment. But then every time we discussed the—the end, I couldn’t...I _love_ you, Russo, Maitimo, my Russandol, I don’t _want_ this to end—I thought, I dreamed, maybe, that you would love me in return—you nearly _broke_ me, Russo, today when you said you were in love—”

“With you, I meant you, every word,” Maitimo sobbed. “I am sorry I caused you such agony, but know that it broke me also, to think that you did not return my love—I, I must confess I have not loved you for years—no, no, I _have_ , but I only realized it recently, the night that—that we decided I would ask your father for your hand—but I thought, I didn’t _know_ —”

“I was telling you I loved you with every kiss,” Findekáno confessed. “With every word, every promise—could you not tell?”

“I didn’t want to presume,” Maitimo said, his cheeks flushing even redder than they were already. “I didn’t...it was your idea, this plan, and I didn’t want to—to overstep—”  
  
“Valar, Russo, we _are_ stupid.” Finno laughed and pressed his face into Maitimo’s hair, whispering _And yet I love you anyway; there is no one else for me_. “That was the whole _point_ of the plan, to make you mine for as long as I could have you!”

“You have me,” Maitimo vowed. “Forever and ever, always, until the end of Arda and after, into the Second Music and beyond. You have me, I am yours, I give myself to you utterly. Oh, _Finno_ , I love you—Finno, will you marry me? I know we’re already betrothed, I know I’ve already asked, but—”

Findekáno claimed his lips in a biting kiss that had Maitimo breathless and moaning. “ _Yes_ ,” he promised, the force of his devotion nearly knocking Maitimo off his feet. “Yes, I will marry you, and—we needn’t even start the betrothal period over, we’ll be married a month sooner than if we’d gotten our act together earlier—Mandos, we’ve already skipped the courting period—”

“We did all that, it _was_ real,” Maitimo assured. “Even if we didn’t quite realize it at the time. Eru, Finno, you undid me even then—when you kissed me first, and then in front of our fathers, and then—” He could list every kiss, but by the time he reached the end of the list it would have doubled, tripled, quadrupled, because Finno kept pressing more kisses to his lips, his neck, his chest, his arms. Instead he sent all the memories of those precious moments to Findekáno at once through ósanwë, and—it was difficult; surely it would be easier when they were married—but Findekáno crumpled into him and sobbed with joy and love, and Maitimo knew he could never be happier than with Finno in his arms.

“ _That’s_ more like it,” interrupted Findaráto behind them, clapping his hands together. Guiltily, Maitimo and Findekáno sprang apart, but when Findaráto rolled his eyes they moved back together, clinging to each other, never wanting to let go.

“You’re kissing like you mean it now, right?” Makalaurë added, his arms crossed.

Maitimo nodded, an embarrassed grin spread wide across his face. “I already was,” he said, sticking his chin out defiantly. “But now he knows what I mean.”

“I _always_ was,” Findekáno said, so tenderly that Maitimo thought he would melt.

“Then we had better resume our proper chaperoning duties, so that you may not go further before the wedding,” Makalaurë announced.

“ _Kano_ —” Maitimo protested, but _the wedding, the wedding_! It would be _real_ , they would be _married_ , he would be _Finno’s_ —! Oh, it was beyond his wildest dreams, and suddenly the ten long months that stretched before them seemed impossibly far away, for all it had been almost that time since their spurious courtship had begun.

“Don’t worry, we’ll keep the details of your love story to ourselves,” Findaráto promised. “At least until after you’re safely married. You _are_ getting married, right?”

“Nothing could stop us,” Findekáno said, leaning into Maitimo’s side.

“You know,” Makalaurë sighed, “if you had not already proved that you _can_ force our fathers to get along I would not be able to stand with you in this. But you idiots managed to do _one_ thing right with your foolish scheme, and though I doubt they’ll be friends anytime soon I think you may truly have set this feud to rest.”

“Your fathers love you both very much, to set aside their rivalry for your happiness,” Findaráto said softly. “You should feel very grateful, and very treasured.”

“We do,” Maitimo said. “Now, if you must keep an eye on us, that is the price we pay for our happiness. But please do excuse us—we still have _much_ to discuss, my betrothed and I.”

“Betrothed,” Findekáno sighed as they began to wander away, deeper into the grove of fruit trees, twining his fëa with Maitimo’s as best he could without a true bond. “Oh, arimeldanya...”

Maitimo thought he might faint from the adoration dripping from that single word, the pure love that radiated from his fëa. _He_ was Finno’s dearly beloved!

“Arimeldanya,” he repeated softly, and kissed Findekáno again. “I love you so dearly. I never want to go a day without telling you how much.” _Or sharing how deep my love goes._

“Kiss me,” Finno begged. _Please_. “One more time, with all the feeling in your fëa—kiss me so I know this is real, that I am not simply dreaming—”

“More than once,” Maitimo promised, and as he ever would, obeyed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very minor detail, but I gave Anairë a mother name: Márahelindë, "good violet," because my headcanon is that she is a priestess of Nessa, who is associated with violets.
> 
> Because I love them so much, and I can't help myself, I've already started working on a smutty sequel to this fic - subscribe to the series this fic is a part of to get notified when that's finished and published! I've also got a few other ideas for some companion pieces :)
> 
> Some final plugs: You should absolutely check out Ysabeau's [AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YsabeauV/) and [tumblr](http://ysabeau-valikov.tumblr.com/), as well as the Tolkien RSB's [AO3 collection](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TolkienRSB_20) and [tumblr](http://tolkienrsb.tumblr.com/)!  
> My own tumblr is [@arofili](http://arofili.tumblr.com/) \- and guess what? This is not the only collaboration I worked on for this event! I wrote two other fics and created three art pieces - you can find links to those [here](https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/628073213711269888/annas-trsb20-masterpost)!  
> 
> 
> Thank you so, so much for reading my story, it means a lot to me - and I would *really* love to hear your thoughts on the fic! Please drop a comment, it would absolutely make my day :D


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